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•• ‘ DID SHE WANT YOU NOT TO MARRY ME ?”’ Page IIU 


\ 


Betty of the Rectory 


®y 




MRS. L. T. MEADE 


GROSSET & DUNLAP 
Publishers : : New York 




LIBRARY of OONaRfi53» 

Two CoDics Heceivtjt* 

JUN 5 

1908 

1 v/vvyriViK 

tntrv 

PHcla. // 

r<^o% 


Me. rev. 

1 'zc t S 

ij iJOHY 

3. 

Copyright, 

1908, 


By GROSSET & DUNLAP 
A// rights reserved 



Betty of the Rectory 


) 


BETTY OF THE RECTORY 


CHAPTER I 

Betty Ross was standing in her beautiful bed- 
room looking out across the broad meadows and 
bright flower garden of the old Rectory grounds of 
Deep Dale. The room was in that state of con- 
fusion which meant departure. Dresses of all sorts 
and descriptions, blouses, hats, bodices, the varied 
clothing which constitutes a girl’s wardrobe, was 
lying about on chairs, and some of it was piled up on 
a little white bed. The girl to whom all these things 
belonged was standing motionless by the window, 
her hands folded together, her eyes gazing straight 
out on to the landscape. She looked like one whose 
heart was too full for speech, who was too much 
absorbed in a silent vision of happiness even to 
remember where she was. 

A gay little voice called out behind her : 

‘‘Betty! Div’ I a penny for oo thoughts!” and 
a charming little girl of five years of age, who had 
1 


2 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


first peeped almost timidly into the room, now 
sprang forward and clasped Betty round the waist. 
‘‘Geoff is down’tairs,” said the child, “and wants to 
see oo; and oh — isn’t it insiting and isn’t oo glad 
oo’s going to be bwide? I wonder, I do wonder, 
Betty, when I’ll be mawwied!” 

“O Rachel — what a silly little mite you are !” said 
Betty. “Why, Baby, you do talk nonsense.” 

The elder sister stooped, pushed the hair back 
from the pretty brow of the little one and kissed 
her on her full rosy lips. 

“I is going to mawwy vezzy vezzy soon,” said 
Rachel ; “and I’ll tell oo why, Betty. ’Cause I want 
all the be-eautiful pwesents — boxes and boxes more 
have come for oo. Isn’t oo just a wee bit tired of 
opening ’em? Wouldn’t oo like me to do it for oo?” 

“No, Rachel,” replied Betty. “I must do it my- 
self, and send letters to all the kind people. Now 
don’t keep me, darling, for I want to go and see 
Geoffrey. I didn’t know he would return from 
London so early.” 

The girl moved slowly across the room. All her 
movements were slow, and somewhat stately. The 
little sister watched her, her own eyes bright and 
happy as those of an absolutely contented and 
healthy child ought to be. The excitement and fuss 
of the wedding delighted little Rachel Ross, and she 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


3 


gave no present thought to the fact that Betty, her 
elder sister and the darling of her heart, would have 
left home by that time to-morrow. 

'‘Come, Ray,” said Betty. She held out her hand 
to the child. 

“O Betty!” said little Rachel. “I love oo just 
awful much! I am so glad you are going to have 
a beautiful wedding!” 

“Darling,” said Betty, “I shall miss you very 
much.” 

Ray’s deep blue eyes grew round with a sort of 
wonder. 

“Miss me?” she said, a thoughtful expression 
coming into her baby face; “but there’s so much to 
think of afore the missing time begins. Firstly, 
there’s the looking at the pwesents, and to-morrow 
there’ll be the beautiful, beautiful dwesses, and the 
time in church and me holding up your, twain, and 
then there’ll be the cutting of the cake and the 
th wowing of the wice at you and Geoff: and oh, 
Betty, what do you think? Nurse has got me a lot 
of old slippers, and I’ll see that some of them pitch 
on the top of the cawwidge, that I will. Oh, there’s 
no time to think of missing to-day, there’s such a 
lot to do first.” 

“So there is; you’re quite right,” said Betty. 

They reached the hall. Betty dropped the child’s 


BETTY OE THE EECTOEY 


hand, and, still walking slowly, entered the little 
boudoir where she knew her lover would be waiting 
for her. 

Geoffrey Pevensey, a man of about thirty years 
of age, was the rector of a large parish in a dis- 
tant part of England. Betty herself was a clergy- 
man’s daughter. Betty was twenty-two years old. 
She had lost her mother when quite a little child. 
Rachel was her step-sister. 

The second Mrs. Ross was a good-looking and 
excellent woman. Betty adored her. She also 
adored little Rachel; but her strongest love was 
given to her father, the Rev. Michael Ross, who was 
one of the best and most conscientious men of his 
time; one whose sympathy was so rare and whose 
tact was so perfect, that people of all sorts and 
degrees, and of many shades of opinion, came to 
him for advice, and treasured and acted upon the 
brave, strong words with which he counselled them. 

Of his two children, Mr. Ross loved Betty the 
most. She was the daughter of his first wife, and 
his first wife had been to him that absolutely ideal 
creature whom a man is sometimes, but not often, 
fortunate enough to win. 

Betty in many respects resembled her mother, 
while at the same time she had her father’s sturdy 
and firm character. Now she was to find her own 


BETTY OF THE RECTORY 


5 


home, and no one could for a moment doubt the 
deep love which filled her heart, as she raised her 
eyes to the face of Pevensey, when he came eagerly 
forward to greet her. 

The Rev. Geoffrey Pevensey was a fine type of 
the best sort of Englishman. His face was some- 
what thin and much bronzed from exposure to the 
weather. He had dark and very beautiful grey eyes 
and a firm mouth. He was the sort of man whom 
any girl could easily learn to love, and he was the 
first who had ever touched the heart of Betty Ross. 

She entered the room now, her face full of bright- 
ness and her heart singing a song of absolute con- 
tent. But when she looked full at her lover, the 
content vanished from her radiant face and the 
song died away. Pevensey took both her hands, 
drew her close to him, and said in a quick, eager 
voice, with a sort of trembling in it — a voice abso- 
lutely unlike his own: 

‘T want to speak to you, Betty: I have some- 
thing I ought to say before we are married. I only 
knew about it myself last night. I hurried down 
from London by an earlier train to tell you every- 
thing, to ask your advice — ^to, if necessary, and it 
may be necessary, Betty — to give you back your 
freedom. We are close to our wedding, but it has 
not taken place yet. Were this thing told to me 


6 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


twenty-four hours later, I would never breathe it 
to you, my darling ; but as it is, you ought — yes, you 
ought to know. 

While Pevensey was speaking, Betty’s whole face 
altered. The resolution of character which she had 
inherited from her father came into it to a marked 
degree. It lost much of its tenderness, but it gained 
in strength and power. 

‘'Stop a minute,” she said. “You came down 
early on purpose? Something has frightened you.” 

“Yes, yes,” he answered. “Yes, my darling, it 
is true.” 

“You think, Geoffrey, that it may part us?” 

“It may,” he replied. 

She clasped his hand in both of hers. He held it. 
tightly, then she said in a low tone : 

“You heard of this thing, whatever it is, last 
night. Did the information come to you imme- 
diately after our marriage you would never tell me?” 

“Never, never — so help me, God! It would be 
too late then.” 

Now she raised one of her hands and laid it on 
his shoulder. Then she stole her arm round his 
neck and pressed her soft lips to his cheek. 

“You will do what I wish?” she said. 

“What is it ?” he asked. 

“I wish not to know. I wish whatever is troub- 


BETTY OP THE RECTORY 


n 


ling you to remain a secret. Let it be as though you 
had heard it after our marriage. That is what I 
wish. If it concerns me and I so decide, I have a 
right to my decision. Keep your secret, Geoffrey; 
don’t tell me.” 

“But that is not right,” he said. “We must dis- 
cuss the whole thing. You must decide after you 
know.” 

“Does it concern you personally?” she asked. 

“In a measure,' yes ; in a measure, no.” 

“You have never done anything really, really 
wrong in your life?” she said, looking him full in 
the face. 

“I have had many faults, Betty,” answered her 
lover; “and the sins of discontent and slothfulness 
in the cause of God’s work have been, alas! abun- 
dantly mine. At the present moment you are tempt- 
ing me, my own Betty, to commit a further sin — > 
the sin of selfishness. Don’t try me too far.” 

“I will,” she answered, with a joyful note in her 
voice. “This is some trouble which has come to 
you, and I am to part from you because you are in 
trouble, Geoffrey? A thousand times, no. If you 
could live after our wedding without telling me, so 
you can live now. Bury the secret, darling; let it 
be as though it did not exist.” 

He turned from her and walked to the window. 


8 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


The temptation she was presenting to him was very 
fierce ; it smote on his heart with almost irresistible 
power. He clenched his right hand. He said to 
himself, ‘‘Need she know? Were I told what was 
confided to me last night twenty-four hours after 
our marriage, I should never have troubled her. 
Need I — need I trouble her now?’' 

Betty came up and touched him on the shoulder. 

“I will not part from you,” she said, “and I will 
not hear what you have come down in such a hurry 
to tell me.” 

“You are not afraid?” he said, then. 

“I have no fear when I am with you,” was her 
answer. 

He kissed her silently, looking at her in that ten- 
der way which drew her very heart from her. Sud- 
denly he said : 

“Oh, Betty! you ought to give me strength to do 
my duty.” 

“As your wife, I will give you all strength,” she 
answered; “but I must have you for my very own. 
There! I have decided absolutely. You have done 
your duty by coming here for the express purpose 
of telling me something which gives you pain, some- 
thing which you imagine would divide us. What- 
ever it is, it would never do that. I would marry 
you, whatever happened. But I would prefer to 


BETTY OE THE EECTOKY 


0 


marry you, Geoffrey, not knowing the secret which 
we will both decide to bury from this moment for- 
ward/' 

“I have done my duty," thought Geoffrey Peven- 
sey. “She is right. The responsibility of her not 
knowing rests on her, and her alone. The story is 
terrible, but it need never affect her. Its conse- 
quences may never extend to the future. It relates 
to no crime of mine. It is the bitter consequence of 
the sin of another. Why should I fear it? My little 
girl is right; she need never know. Oh, how beau- 
tiful she is and how deeply I love her!" 

“I say — Geoff and Betty!" called Rachel’s cheer- 
ful voice. “Mummy says that more and more pwitty 
pwesents have come, and that you mustn’t talk 
secwets any longer. You’ve got to come with me 
and see the new pwesents. How I do wish I was 
being mawwied my own self !" 

“You silly little darling!" said Betty, relieved by 
the child’s presence, and catching her hand. “Come, 
Geoff," she said, turning to her lover; and the young 
man followed her into a room where the presents 
were being arranged for public display on the mor- 
row. 

The following day there was a gay wedding at 
Deep Dale Church. It was recorded fully in all 
the local newspapers. The decorations of the church 


10 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


were described, also the dresses of the bridesmaids. 
Betty had chosen six little girls to follow her to the 
altar. The lovely face of little Rachel was much 
discussed, but of course the crowning figure in the 
gay and yet solemn scene was the young and stately 
bride, who, on her father's arm, moved so slowly up 
the aisle, her bright face lightly hidden by the 
beautiful veil of Honiton lace which she wore. 

Her whole appearance seemed to radiate happi- 
ness and content. The bridegroom is more or less 
a secondary figure in a wedding — at least, so he 
seems to the majority of spectators. But no one 
could fail to admire the stalwart figure of Geoffrey 
Pevensey as he and his young bride stood together, 
and in the presence of God and a great congregation 
took solemn vows to be true to each other until 
death. 

The marriage over, the guests returned to the 
Rectory, and shortly afterwards, as though it were 
in a dream, Betty left the old home; kissed her 
father and stepmother and her little sister; looked 
with a feeling almost of bewilderment round at the 
old gardens and the old house, and then stepped into 
the carriage by her husband’s side. Cheer after 
cheer greeted the bridal pair as they drove to the 
nearest railway station. The marriage was over, 
and Betty was now Geoffrey Pevensey’s wife, 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


11 


When they found themselves alone in the railway 
carriage which was to convey them to, the house of a 
friend, where they were to spend the honeymoon, 
Betty, clasping her husband’s hand in hers, said : 

“Now I am safe and don’t fear anything; but 
you gave me an awful time yesterday.” 

He did not reply, but the color suddenly left his 
face. She gazed at him steadily; then she said in a 
low voice : 

“I want you to make me a very solemn promise.” 

“What is it, Betty?” he asked. 

“I want you to say this to me: ‘We will never 
talk of that which you feared might divide us yes- 
terday. We will keep it in the dark and forget it.’ ” 

“I will make you the promise conditionally,” was 
his answer. 

“Conditionally?” she replied. 

“Yes.” 

“What are the conditions ?” 

“As far as lies within me,” he said at once, “I 
will do what you wish. As far as is in the power 
of man, I will keep the secret which has come to my 
knowledge to myself. If I fail, it will only be be- 
cause fate will be too strong for me.” 

“There can be nothing too strong, there can be no 
circumstance too bitter, for God not to help us 
through,” said the wife. She sat very still and 


12 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


thoughtful for a few minutes; then she said, in her 
somewhat slow way: 'T mean to ask you for a 
second promise which may, if necessary, override 
the first.’’ 

“Yes,” he said again. 

“If,” she said, “the matter which you nearly told 
me yesterday becomes at any time or in any way a 
burden too heavy for you to carry, then tell me all, 
ask for my counsel, depend upon my sympathy as 
your wife; nothing can really divide us. What I 
dreaded yesterday and could not face was separa- 
tion. We are safe from that.” 

“Yes; we are safe from that,” he replied; “but I 
will be true to myself, Betty. The only time when 
the telling of my secret could have helped you was 
yesterday. The time is over. I will not be a cow- 
ard; it may never affect either of us. This is our 
wedding day, darling; let us be happy.” 

He kissed her and she kissed him. 


CHAPTER II 


Pkvensey’s Rectory was situated on the out- 
skirts of a large manufacturing town. In itself it 
was pretty and commodious. It had large sitting- 
rooms and tastefully laid out grounds. It is true, 
the smoke from the great chimneys of the huge man- 
ufacturing town of Dartminster spread its perni- 
cious eflPects on the flowers and grass and the tall 
trees, which made shade in the leafy garden. 

Betty Pevensey, three months after her marriage, 
thought of the difference between the trees at the 
Hillside Rectory and the trees at Deep Dale. But 
her comparisons were all in favor of Hillside Rec- 
tory. If she had looked happy before her marriage, 
she looked ten times happier now. Her life was 
full ; she had every blessing that could be given to a 
woman — the love of her husband’s heart, a deep 
and ever growing respect for him, for his noble 
character and his power of influencing others. 

She was keenly interested, too, in his work, which, 
as far as possible, she participated in. Few people 
would have recognized in the active young matron, 
the girl who spent her time in the garden at Deep 
13 


14 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


Dale, playing with Rachel or reading quietly to her- 
self. Now Betty was busy always. She was sympa- 
thetic with her poorer neighbors, and was liked by 
them all. 

The Rectory was an old house. It was very cool 
and shady in summer and warm in winter, owing 
to the thickness of its walls. Betty made it look as 
bright and gay as possible. She fought vigorously 
against the smuts, and instructed her young serv- 
ants to follow her example. She was particularly 
active on this special day, for Lady Pevensey, her 
husband’s mother, was coming to stay with her. 

She had hardly ever met this lady, and felt a 
slight degree o.f nervousness at meeting her. Lady 
Pevensey was unlike her son. She had never 
approved of his taking Holy Orders, and was her- 
self a worldly-minded woman. She was coming to 
visit Betty, accompanied by her daughter Laura, and 
the young wife was anxious to do all in her power 
to make things pleasant for them both. 

Pevensey came in suddenly. He had been visit- 
ing his parishioners for some hours, and was dis- 
turbed by a bad accident which had taken place in 
one of the factories. In consequence, two men had 
died, and another, whom Pevensey especially cared 
for — a young fellow of twenty, and his mother’s 
only son — could not live until the morning. 


BETTY OF THE EEOTOEY 


15 


''They’ve taken poor Jack Hinton to the hospital,” 
he said, "and I am going to see him at once. The 
doctors think he may recover consciousness before 
he passes away. Poor Mrs. Hinton knows nothing 
about it. I wonder” — he looked full at Betty. 

"You want me to tell her,” said the girl, shrinking 
a little into herself at the ordeal which was pre- 
sented to her. 

"No one could do it so tenderly, darling.” 

"Then I will — I certainly will,” she replied. "I 
will go at once.” 

"Yes, Betty ; you ought to go at once, for the poor 
woman must be prepared. She ought to be with 
Jack when he recovers consciousness. He is in the 
western division of the hospital. Ward B. You 
might bring her to the hospital if you can, Betty. 
Take a cab; do all in your power for her. Now I 
must hurry off.” 

He kissed his wife, and then strode down the ave- 
nue. She watched him until he was out of sight. 
Then she turned quickly, pressing her hands to- 
gether. 

Lady Pevensey and Laura might arrive any min- 
ute. Betty had intended to go to the railway sta- 
tion to meet them; but now this could not be man- 
aged. She rang a bell. The neat parlor maid 
appeared. 


16 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


“Helen,” said Mrs. Pevensey, “I must go out sud- 
denly ; I have to see poor Mrs. Hinton. She has not 
yet been told of the accident.” 

“Oh, ma’am,” said Helen, a most affectionate girl 
and warmly attached to Betty; “isn’t it just too 
awful! There wasn’t a young fellow in the whole 
of Dartminster like Jack — and such a son to his 
mother, too! You. are looking quite white, ma’am. 
May I get you a cup of tea before you go out?” 

“No, I am all right,” said Betty; “and there isn’t 
a minute to spare. Helen, you must be ready to 
meet Lady Pevensey when she arrives, and take her 
and Miss Pevensey to their rooms, and get them tea, 
and do everything you can for them. You must 
explain to them why I am out, and that I will be back 
as soon as ever I can.” 

“Yes, of course, ma’am; I will do my very best.” 

The girl withdrew. Betty rushed to her room, 
put on her outdoor things and ran downstairs. Her 
quick steps almost flew down the avenue. Helen 
watched her until she was out of sight. As she did 
so, she said to herself : 

“There’s no one like our young missis, unless per- 
haps it’s the Rector himself. She don’t have a 
thought in her heart, but just to love the Rector and 
to help every living soul who is in any sort of trouble 
in the world. Oh, don’t I love her just! I wonder 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 17 

what sort Lady Pevensey is; but she must be nice 
to be my master’s mother.” 

Meanwhile, Betty had hailed a passing tram, and, 
getting into it, quickly found herself in the neigh- 
borhood of that poor part of Dartminster where the 
Hintons lived. 

Jack was foreman in a great iron factory, and 
kept his mother and himself in considerable comfort. 
Mrs. Hinton was a sour-faced woman of middle age. 
She was very reserved and distant to her neighbors, 
lavishing all the love of her heart on her son. He 
was her darling, her idol. The great fear she had 
was that some day he would bring a wife home to 
her. Mrs. Hinton was by no means unselfish in her 
devotion. That she could be deprived of the sun- 
shine of her life in any way except by marriage had 
never entered her head. The greajt separation caused 
by Death had never occurred to her. It, of course, 
was possible, just possible, that she might die, but 
that Jack, her darling, the bonniest boy in the town — 
the gayest, the brightest, the best — could lose his life 
before she lost hers was a condition of things which 
had never yet intruded itself on her mind. 

It is an old saying that it’s invariably the unex- 
pected that happens, and poor Mrs. Hinton as she 
laid the table for tea little guessed the heavy blow 
which was awaiting her. Jack invariably came in 


18 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


for that meal, even though he had generally to 
return to the works for an hour or two afterwards. 

She was putting the home-made brown loaf on 
the table, on which she had first spread a clean white 
cloth, and was just lifting the kettle to pour boiling 
water into the teapot, when Mrs. Pevensey's tap at 
the door caused her to start. 

“Whoever can it be now ?” thought Mrs. Hinton. 
“I do dislike the way the neighbors peep and pry on 
one, and come round when they’d be much better 
out of the way. I am sort o’ wore out with them; 
and I am sure no one can accuse me of encouraging 
them.” 

The knock came again. Mrs. Hinton put down 
her kettle on the little hob and walked to the door. 
She flung it wide. 

“You’ll excuse me,” she began, “I’m expecting of 
my son.” Then she saw Mrs. Pevensey and started 
back. 

Betty had been to see her once or twice before, 
and even cross Mrs. Hinton was not proof against 
that bright presence, those clear and sweet eyes, and 
that radiant smile. Instantly the cloud disappeared 
from her face. 

“Oh, come in, ma’am,” she said ; “come in. Who- 
ever would have thought it was you! I was just in 
the act of wetting the tea for Jack, poor boy; he 




BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


19 


always likes it ready drawn when he comes in from 
the works, and I am expecting him in a couple of 
minutes ; not that you’d be in the way, ma’am — far 
from that. Will you do me the honor to take a 
seat, and if I could persuade you, Mrs. Pevensey, to 
have a cup of tea, I should be proud. I have got 
this tea I am using now from my sister in Lpndon, 
and it’s very good of its kind. It’s a mixture that 
she has specially prepared for her.” 

Mrs. Pevensey was glad that Mrs. Hinton talked 
on. She accepted the proffered seat, but said 
quietly : 

‘T don’t want the tea, thank you so very much.” 

“Well, ma’am, that’s as you like ; but it’s not that 
strong, coarse Ceylon stuff that most poor folks 
drink. Jack and me, we can’t abear it. I am noted 
for the fine flavor of my tea.” 

Betty struggled with a lump in her throat. The 
little room was the picture of neatness. All prepara- 
tions had already been made for Jack’s return in 
the evening. There was a special chair — an easy 
one, made of wicker work, drawn up not far from 
the highly polished little stove. There were the 
slippers to put on his feet, and a pile of books — for 
the young fellow was an ardent reader — already 
placed on a small table near. 

“Ah, ma’am!” said Mrs. Hinton, “you may well 


i 


20 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


look at those things and wonder. There never was 
such a scholard as my boy. He’s reading Butler's 
Analogy now. I can’t make head nor tail of it 
myself ; but Jack, he loves it, he do. He says noth- 
ing pleases him so much as to speculate things out 
and guess at meanings. He has a great turn for 
religion, ma’am — wonderful, I call it, in so young a 
boy.” 

The clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Hin- 
ton looked at it. 

“He ought to be coming in. You know my Jack, 
don’t you, ma’am?” 

“Yes, I know him,” said Betty. That lump in her 
throat must not prevent her speaking. “I — I have 
come here on purpose ” 

“To see him^ ma’am. Well, I am sure, he’ll be 
that proud ! He has talked to me over and over of 
our dear young lady at the Rectory. He is took 
with you like anything, ma’am; and when you pro- 
posed having a class for young men on Sunday 
afternoons, my Jack was the first who said he’d 
join.” 

“I know,” said Betty; and then she did just per- 
haps the best thing of all under the circumstances; 
she did what she could not help doing, she burst into 
a torrent of weeping. Much alarmed, and fearing 
something had happened to the dear young lady 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 21 

herself, Mrs. Hinton went on her knees by Betty's 
side. 

When people cry, distinction and mere rank are 
apt to disappear. 

^‘Now, don’t ye, don't ye, my dear pretty lady," 
said poor Mrs. Hinton. “What can I do for you, 
my dear? Is it in trouble you be? But I can 
scarcely think it, you, who have every one of the 
blessings of God showered on your head." 

“Oh, it is yoti I am thinking of!" said Betty, then. 
She struggled with her emotion, rose, and clasped 
the widow's two hands. “Mrs. Hinton, you must 
listen, and for the sake of another you must be 
brave — yes, brave. He — ^your Jack, I mean — isn’t 
coming in. Well, he — he can’t. Mrs. Hinton — 
bear up, even if it is only for a little. Come with 
me, dear; come with me. He is hurt, your Jack is, 
badly. He is in the hospital. I have come to^ — to 
fetch you. Dear. Mrs. Hinton, come; let me take 
you to him." 

Mrs. Hinton stared hard at Betty. As the girl 
went on speaking, the sympathetic look left the old 
woman’s face. It seemed to harden — to freeze. 
There came a queer expression into her eyes, she 
dropped Betty’s two hands, and, turning slowly, put 
out the little gas stove on which the kettle was boil- 
ing. She then went straight to her bedroom, stayed 


22 


BETTY or THE EECTOEY 


there for a mintue or two, and reappeared in her 
bonnet and neat shawl. 

“I am ready,” she said. Then she added, slowly : 
“You understand, ma’am, perhaps, that he is all I 
have in the world. Without him I am homeless, 
penniless, and, above all things, I have no one to 
love. You understand, ma’am?” 

“Yes — oh yes — oh yes !” said Betty. 

She clasped the poor woman’s cold hand. 

“But come,” she added, “you would like to be 
with him.” 

They went downstairs and reached the street. 
Betty called a passing hansom. She motioned to 
Mrs. Hinton to get in. She followed her. 

“To the west wing of the hospital,” she said to 
the man, “and be as quick as you can.” 

The driver of the hansom looked at the young 
lady as though he knew what she meant. All over 
Dartminster the news of that terrible accident which 
had caused the deaths of two men and the mortal 
injuries of another was already known. Only Mrs. 
Hinton, who kept herself so much to herself, had 
heard nothing. The hansom driver whipped up his 
horse; and to her dying day Betty always remem- 
bered how they dashed through obstacles, and their 
hair-breadth escapes in turning corners — in short, 
they seemed almost to fly over the ground on their 


BETTY OF THE REOTOEY 


way to the hospital. Mrs. Hinton did not speak a 
single word until, as they were quickly entering the 
great square in front of the building, she turned and 
looked full at the girl. 

“There is no hope ; he is dying,” she said. 

Betty's face went white. She nodded, but did not 
speak. Mrs. Hinton drew herself up very erect. 
Just as the hansom approached the west entrance, 
she said again : 

“You understand, young lady, that you are bring- 
ing me to the deathbed of my only son. I am home- 
less and penniless henceforth — and without love; 
that is the worst.” 

“Come,” said Betty, “come; think of him now, 
poor mother : think of him and take courage.” 

They were shown up at once to the ward. Betty 
parted from Mrs. Hinton at the door. She did not 
go in. She wanted to say to her : 

“I will be with you to-night; I will come to you 
again to-morrow ; there is nothing in the way of my 
love and sympathy and consolation which I will not 
give you.” 

But there was no time for words, and no place 
for them. She went slowly downstairs and, enter- 
ing the hansom, desired the man to drive her back 
to the Rectory. 

What she had just gone through had strained her 


M 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


every nerve. Her sympathy with the broken-down 
woman was intense. Betty could always give 
immense sympathy; it was her strongest and richest 
possession. Since she was a tiny child, children 
smaller than herself had come to her in their trou- 
bles, and all during her childhood and girlhood 
things had been like that. Sick dogs were nursed 
by her, forsaken animals rescued by her ; and young 
and old, rich and poor, had learned to look for her 
smile of joy in times of happiness, and for her gen- 
tleness and loving words in times of trouble. 

Now she entered the house, feeling fagged and 
unlike herself. She had forgotten the visit of Lady 
Pevensey and her daughter, and when a gay, some- 
what strident voice called out her name, and a girl 
with a look of Geoffrey Pevensey came into the hall 
to greet her, she gave a quick gasp. 

Laura Pevensey and her mother had been out of 
England at the time of Betty’s marriage. Betty had 
consequently only seen very little of them. Now 
Laura, a handsome girl, fashionably dressed, and 
with the quick manner and stride of a very athletic 
young woman, said eagerly : 

“Oh, there you are at last, Betty. I hope you are 
glad to see us. I have been roaming about the house 
trying to amuse myself. Mother’s up in her room. 


BETTY OE THE RECTOBY 25 

She is just a wee bit offended; she thought you 
might have been here.’' 

“How are you, Eaura? I am delighted to see you, 
of course,” said Betty. “I had to go out — there has 
been an accident — horrible! didn’t Helen tell you?” 

“Oh, your maid gave us some garbled account of 
a poor boy who has been injured in the machinery 
at one of the factories; but mother did think that 
even such an accident should not have prevented 
your staying here just to receive us. However, I am 
not going to scold. Come in, Betty; how nice you 
look. You are very pretty indeed : you don’t mind 
my talking frankly, do you? I am nothing if not 
frank. When I dislike anyone, I say so plainly, and 
I say the reverse when I am pleased : only for good- 
ness’ sake, my dear child, don’t keep that woe-begone 
face on. You must smile and be cheerful with 
mother; she simply won’t endure it if you are 
gloomy. And there’s another thing, Betty. Don’t 
talk about that horrid accident to her, for she posi- 
tively hates painful subjects. She has nerves, you 
know — neurasthenia, or something of that kind — 
she calls it ; I, myself, believe it’s fancy, but she likes 
to have it — it’s somewhat distinguished, you know 
' — I mean, fashionable. Anyhov>, she goes in for all 
those new electric treatments. If you want to please 
her, you will talk to her about her complaints; she 


^6 


BETTY OF THE. EECTOEY 


can describe to you what her various doctors have 
said by the yard ! Now then, where are you going ?” 

“Up to see your mother, of course, Laura.” 

“But you can’t; it is impossible. She is in the 
hands of her maid. She is having a new transfor- 
mation put on her head, and she is getting into a 
very becoming gown. She will come downstairs 
presently to your drawing-room, and then you must 
sit by her and entertain her. I only trust you have 
some little scandals to tell her I There must be heaps 
of that sort of thing to talk about in a great parish 
like this.” 

“I haven’t any ; I don’t know of any,” said Betty. 

“Oh, good gracious !” cried Laura. “How fright- 
fully dull we shall be! Well, let me see the house. 
You must go upstairs afterwards, and put on one 
of your own prettiest dresses. Mother’s fearfully 
conventional, you understand. Everything must be 
‘just so’ with mother. Now, I hate conventionality, 
and don’t care twopence what anyone wears! Do 
lead the way, Betty; I want to see all over the 
house.” 

Betty took her young sister-in-law from room to 
room. Laura remarked on the furniture, and was 
shocked with many of the arrangements. 

“Very old-fashioned!” she said, “and not a scrap 
of art taste anywhere. Whom did you get to fur- 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


27 


nish your rooms? Waring is fairly good, and he is 
so new just at present. I myself think Liberty the 
only person whose style in the decoration of a house 
is endurable, but some people hate him. Mother 
prefers Maple. Horrid of her, isn’t it! Now, how 
many horses have you? and dogs? You ought to 
keep almost a kennel full of dogs here. You might 
take me to the stables, and show me the horses, 
Betty.” 


CHAPTER III 


Lady Pevens^y, a fashionably-dressed woman 
with much elegance of deportment and a face which 
still looked comparatively young, waited in the 
pretty drawing-room of Betty’s house. Neither 
Laura nor Betty was anywhere to be seen. Lady 
Pevensey, in a pale lilac silk, with some good lace 
round her neck and at her wrists, felt impatient. 
She was the sort of woman whom others make a 
fuss about. She was accustomed to admiration 
from her earliest days. 

She had not been too eager to accept Geoffrey’s 
invitation to Hillside Rectory. But then it was diffi- 
cult to refuse the dear boy. He was her only son, 
too, and she was really — well, on the whole, fond of 
him. He had none of her tastes, it is true; he was 
always a queer fellow. She reflected somewhat rest- 
lessly as she thought of that. 

“Geoff, from his earliest days,” she commented, 
“was unlike others — obstinate to a fault, and so 
strangely, unnaturally devoid of all worldly instincts. 
If ever a boy had the golden bowl of success at his 
feet, my Geoff had. He took such high honors at 
28 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


^9 


Oxford, and is so good-looking. He’d have done 
well, very well, in the Diplomatic Service, and Lord 
Arrowsmith, my dear husband’s uncle, could easily 
have got him an appointment. But no ; Geoff chose 
the Church. *The Church in its poverty, mother,’ 
he said to me. They were such strange words. I 
said something with regard to lay interest and a 
good living, which I knew was in Lord Arrow- 
smith’s gift, but Geoff said he didn’t want a good 
living in that sense, he wanted his living to be rich 
in human beings ; and so he came here, and so, too, 
he married Elizabeth Ross, the daughter of a coun- 
try parson, with little or no money of her own, and 
with no sort of distinction about her. What Geoff 
could see in her always puzzled me. Not that she 
is unladylike — oh, by no means — but what she lacks 
is knowledge, knowledge of the world. She has no 
style, and she really, poor girl, doesn’t know how to 
behave. The bare idea of allowing her husband’s 
mother and sister to arrive here on their first visit 
without any one to welcome them is gauche, and 
wrong in the extreme. Of course I do not blame 
her, poor child! for she knows no better; but it is 
sad for Geoff.” 

Lady Pevensey walked about the room, taking up 
one little ornament after another, and commenting 
on the arrangement of the old-fashioned furniture. 


30 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


'Tt’s exactly like Geoff to have a house of this 
kind,” she thought, “and a room furnished like this. 
What an ugly and terribly zvearable carpet ! It will 
last practically for both their lives. I can fancy this 
room quite well with all the furniture pushed to one 
side in order that my daughter-in-law, Betty, should 
have mothers’ meetings in it; and I can see the 
mothers themselves with their mouths half open, 
gazing at her in admiration. After all, perhaps she 
is wise in her generation. If tea is spilt on this ugly 
grey-green carpet, it won’t show ; and of course the 
mothers will be awkward with their cups of tea. But 
there — Geoff has made his bed, and he will have to 
lie on it. It is by no means a bed of roses, for he 
could have had a brilliant life.” 

Steps were heard in the hall, and the girls, both 
looking fresh and sweet, entered. Betty had put 
on a white muslin dress and a white hat; for 
although it was nearly the end of September, the 
weather was still quite warm. Laura was wearing a 
tailor-made gown, and entered behind Betty with her 
usual stride. 

“Here’s Betty, mother,” she said, “she’s so sorry 
not to have been in the house to meet you.” 

“Oh, yes!” said Betty. 

She went eagerly up to her mother-in-law, raised 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


31 


her sweet face, and looked into the worldly eyes of 
the older woman. 

'T am, indeed, sorry,” she continued. /T hope you 
have had every comfort. Helen is a nice girl, and I 
asked her to attend to you. I was unavoidably pre- 
vented being here ; it was a case of ” 

“You had better not, Betty,” warned Laura, 
holding up her finger and shaking it playfully. 
“Mother canT stand horrors.” 

“Indeed, I can’t, my dear,” said Lady Pevensey, 
giving Betty quite a gracious smile; for the girl’s 
beauty appealed to her, and she seemed to have 
acquired new dignity since that day when Geoffrey 
had brought her to see his mother in London. Now 
she was Geoffrey’s wife. 

“Of course he has improved her; he could not 
help it,” thought the mother. Aloud she said : “No 
horrors for me, Betty. If you mean to identify 
yourself with all Geoff’s parishioners in this huge 
manufacturing town, you must keep your feelings to 
yourself, as far as I am concerned. Now that tea 
does look good, and so do those little hot cakes. 
Pour me out a cup of tea, please, Betty — not too 
strong, and with very little milk ; no sugar, my dear. 
By the way, Betty, have you a good cook? It is 
so essential both for you and Geoffrey that your 
food shall be well cooked.” 


32 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


“Oh, yes,” said Betty: “Bridget is quite excel- 
lent. She is an Irish woman,” she continued. 

“Irish?” said Lady Pevensey. “Horrors — all of 
them !” 

“Oh, no,” said Betty, in her gentle voice. “Bridget 
is a remarkably nice girl — so clever, and so funny. 
If ever I want a good laugh I go and talk to 
Bridget.” 

“You don’t mean to tell me,” said Lady Pevensey, 
“that you allow yourself to converse with your serv- 
ants on anything but matters relating to their 
duties ?” 

“I am afraid I do,” said Betty. 

Lady Pevensey helped herself to a hot cake. It 
was not her place to reprove Geoffrey’s wife. 

“Why don’t you have a cup of tea yourself, my 
dear?” she said, as the girl sat down, and Lady 
Pevensey noticed how white her face was. 

Betty shook her head. 

“I am sorry,” she said, “I cannot.” 

This was true. She could and did manage to talk 
almost cheerfully to her mother-in-law, but as to 
drinking tea or eating — these things were beyond 
her power. She had a horrible vision before her 
eyes of that tea prepared for poor Jack Hinton, of 
the easy-chair and the slippers, and the books. What 
was happening to him now? Was he still uncon- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


33 


scious? Was his mother kneeling by his bedside 
and holding his hand, and looking with the last, 
long, yearning gaze of love, deep love, into his face? 
Betty found herself thinking of the widow’s last 
words to her: ''Homeless, penniless, and without 
love!” She shuddered inwardly, and felt almost 
sick. But Betty had plenty of courage, and while 
these thoughts assailed her excited mind, she allowed 
her new relations to chatter to her on all kinds of 
subjects. 

Presently she started upright. His step! Was 
that her husband? 

"Geoff has come,” she said. "He — I must speak 
to him. Please excuse me.” 

Laura was about to rush into the hall with her, 
but Betty almost pushed her back. She ran into 
the hall, shutting the drawing-room door behind 
her. 

"Oh, Geoff !” she said : "how — how is he ?” 

The Rector 'folded his arms round his wife. 

"Dead. I stayed till the end. Don’t ask me too 
much; it was the most terrible time I ever lived 
through.” 

"Where — where is the mother? I promised to 
go to her.” 

"I left her, poor soul, lying beside the poor young 
fellow’s body, his head cradled against her bosom. 


34 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


her arms round him. She was so fierce when any- 
one attempted to move her that the doctor said she 
must be allowed to have her own way for a little. 
I believe they are going to have the body conveyed 
to her house, and I have promised to look in late this 
evening.” 

*T will go with you,” said Betty : ‘T mean to stay 
with her to-night.” 

‘‘God bless you, my darling! Oh, what should I 
do without you!” 

Betty pushed back her hair from her heated face. 

“Geoffj darling, they have come, and you must 
see them.” 

“Who have come?” 

“Your mother and Laura.” 

“I had forgotten all about them,” said the young 
man. “One minute, Betty, I must go to my room; 
I will be down in no time. Go back to them, my 
darling, my angel. Oh, what would life be without 
you!” 

“What is life to that poor woman!” thought 
Betty, thinking of Mrs. Hinton — “homeless, penni- 
less, loveless!” 

She echoed the words with a fearful ache at her 
heart, and then re-entered the drawing-room. 

There she found her relations in a state of de- 
cided friction. Laura had been arguing hotly with 


BETTY OF THE RECTORY 


35 


her mother, and Lady Pevensey had a flush on one 
cheek, and when Betty entered, she refused a second 
cup of tea. 

“No, thank you,” she said. Then, after a freez- 
ing silence, she added : ’’Have you informed my son 
that his mother and sister are here?” 

“Of course I have,” said Betty. “Geoff has just 
come from a very painful scene. He ran up to his 
room to get tidy. He will be with you in a minute.” 

“I think, Laura,” said Lady Pevensey, glancing 
at her daughter, “that we will return to London 
to-morrow. The fact is, Betty, I don’t wish to 
blame you nor your husband, but I did not accept 
your invitation to Hillside Rectory in order to par- 
ticipate in all the trials of the working people. Ah — 
but here comes Geoff, and looking as — quite as 
handsome as ever. Geoff, my boy: Geoffrey dear !” 

“Hallo, mother!” said the young man. “Wel- 
come, welcome!” 

He went up to her and kissed her with great 
affection. 

“I am so pleased to have you here,” he said, and 
he patted her on her shoulder. 

“Haven’t you a word for me, old man?” said 
Laura. 

“Yes, of course, a thousand welcomes to you, too. 
Of course you’ll both make yourselves absolutely 


36 


BETTY or THE EECTOKY 


at home. The house is quite comfortable, I think : 
and everything you want you must just ask for; 
Betty and I are such busy people.” 

“We really didn’t intend to visit Hillside Rec- 
tory simply as guests in a hotel,” said Lady Peven- 
sey. “We hoped to have a good deal of your com- 
pany, Geoffrey, and also that of your wife. But if 
such things are impossible, you had better let us 
know at once, for Laura and I have many other 
visits to make, haven’t we, Laura?” 

“Yes,” said Laura, in a stout voice: “but we 
meant to stay a week here, and we’ll stay for that 
week unless Betty and Geoff turn us out.” 

“That’s right, Laura,” said her brother. “I hope, 
my dear mother,” he continued, “to give you as 
much as possible of my time ; and this in some ways 
is a good period of the year. To-day, unfortunately, 
Betty and I are ” 

Lady Pevensey held out both her hands. 

“Not a word — not a word!” she said. “No hor- 
rors for me, please, my dear, good young people! 
Keep the affairs of your parishioners to yourselves.” 

Geoffrey glanced at his wife. Betty gave him a 
vague sort of smile. In truth, she was so much 
upset and such a fierce longing was over her to go 
to her room in order to indulge in a good cry that 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY S7 

she could scarcely contain herself. Geoffrey, who 
read her like a book, said at once : 

'‘You are looking tired, Betty; you had better go 
and lie down, my love. I will look after mother 
and Laura; we shall have much to talk over.” 

“Much, truly,” said Lady Pevensey, settling her- 
self comfortably in her easy-chair, and smiling at 
her son. 

Betty made her escape from the room. The door 
had hardly closed behind her when Lady Pevensey 
said : 

“I am exceedingly sorry, Geoffrey, to perceive 
that your wife is so nervous — a most highly-strung 
woman! You ought not to encourage it, my dear. 
In your family nerves ought not to be encouraged.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense, mother!” said Laura. “Or 
rather,” she continued, speaking quickly, “I am 
inclined to say to you the old proverb, 'Physician, 
heal thyself.’ Who is more addicted to nervous 
alarms and fancies than you, my good mother ?” 

“Eeally, Laura, you are very impertinent. My 
pains and aches are, alas! more than real. Dear 
Dr. Goodenough has given me a true and accurate 
description of the state of my heart and my whole 
nervous system. I begged of him to write it down 
in order — should I be attacked in any serious way — 
I might have his exact idea of my case to show to a 


38 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


less clever doctor. I always take dear Dr. Good- 
enough’s opinion about with me, and study it nearly 
every day. You can see it, Geoffrey, if you like.” 

^‘Thanks, mother; but don’t you think the less 
we dwell on our bodily ailments the better?” 

‘T never, never — dwell on mine,” said Lady 
Pevensey; ‘‘but when severe pain overwhelms you, 
you’re obliged — ^yes, my dear boy, obliged — to give 
way to it. Then remedies have to be followed and 
valuable prescriptions resorted to. I am sorry that 
your Betty is nervous; but she has improved. You 
were right to tell her to lie down. Young wives 
ought to be careful of their health. .Now, if you 
will allow me, I will retire to my own bedroom for 
an hour before dinner. You will have plenty to 
say to Laura. What hour do you dine, Geoffrey ? I 
presume at a quarter to eight.” 

“No,” answered Geoffrey; “our dinner hour is 
seven — and sometimes, indeed, half past six; that 
wholly depends on the day of the week. You for- 
get, my dear mother, that I have evening services 
and meetings for choir practices and other parochial 
meetings to attend to after dinner.” 

“Oh — good gracious!” cried his parent. “I 
always did guess that a clergyman’s life was terrible. 
But I did not suppose that you had to give up your 
evenings to it,” 


BETTY OF THE RECTOBY 


39 


“All my time, day and night, if necessary,” was 
his fervent answer, and there came a flash into the 
dark-grey eyes which Lady Pevensey felt impelled 
not to rouse again. She said in a limp voice to her 
daughter : 

“Laura, I will go to my room. I have time for 
half an hour’s rest before Clementina comes to dress 
me for dinner. I presume, Geoffrey, that after din- 
ner you and Betty will have no objection to a game 
at bridge?” 

“I am deeply sorry,” was the answer, “but both 
Betty and I have to go out, not immediately after 
dinner, but at a time which will seem unconventional 
to you. This may not happen again. It is in con- 
nection with an event of the most fearful nature 
which occurred to-day ” 

“Oh — not a word, my dear boy — not a word! 
Laura and I will play double dummy. It is well, 
my dear Laura, we have at least that resource to fall 
back upon.” 


CHAPTER IV 


B^tty never knew afterwards how she got 
through that dinner. In compliance with her hus- 
band’s wish she dressed for it in one of her very 
simplest trousseau gowns. She ran downstairs, to 
find Lady Pevensey in a very elaborate demi-toilette, 
and Laura in a maroon-colored velvet which fitted 
tightly to her really fine figure. 

Laura turned when Betty entered the room. 
Betty came up to her swiftly, and held out her hand. 
Laura clasped it. Laura’s clasp had sympathy in it. 
Betty felt the support of the silent pressure. 

Just at that moment, the Rector himself came into 
the room. He went straight to his mother, and 
began to talk to her. Laura took the opportunity of 
going aside with Betty. 

‘‘Geoffrey has told me something; he said I must 
listen. It is quite too horrible.” 

“Don’t talk of it, please,” answered Betty, “or I 
shall break down.” 

“You mustn’t,” said Laura. “I will help you. 
Geoff says you are going out immediately after din- 
ner. I will manage mother. Just keep up as best 
40 


BETTY OE THE BECTORY 


41 


you can while the meal goes on; you can slip away 
afterwards without saying a word. I have got a 
very exciting new book which I brought down with 
me, and also a budget of letters that I know will 
interest the good mater. I will keep her occupied.’’ 

“Thank you, Laura,” said Betty. 

She raised her lovely dark-grey eyes to the speak- 
er’s face. Then she added : 

“I shall probably not be back to-night.” 

“You can stand that sort of thing?” said Laura, 
her voice dropping to an awestruck whisper. 

“One must,” replied Betty, in the same hushed 
tones. “Think of her suffering compared with 
mine.” 

“Ah, poor creature!” said Laura. Then she 
added, after a pause: “But that is just it, Betty; 
that’s the difference between you and me: I don’t 
want to think.” 

“And yet,” replied Betty, “you are Geoff’s sister.” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” answered Laura; “but as abso- 
lutely unlike him as one human being can be unlike 
another. I am mother’s true daughter; Geoffrey is 
— oh, the son of the Church, the descendant of all 
the mystics of all the ages; the romantic, self-deny- 
ing, fervent, enthusiastic priest.” 

“A follower of God,” said Betty, and then she 
turned from Laura. 


42 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


There was a diversion at the other end of the 
room. Helen was standing there announcing that 
dinner was ready. Pevensey took his mother into 
the quaint old dining-room. She freely gossiped on 
its arrangements. 

“Why, this is a splendid room,’’ she said, “if only 
you had it properly furnished. Oak from floor to 
ceiling ; old oak, too. It would fetch a fabulous sum 
if it were in the market. But it needs lighting up. 
Did you ever think of having electric light put into 
this house, Geoffrey ?” 

“No,” replied the Rector, as he helped his mother 
to some soup. 

“I like lamps and candles ever so much better,” 
said Betty, from her distant end of the table. 

She spoke with an effort. Her white dress, her 
cheeks which were now suffused with crimson, the 
wonderful brightness of her eyes and the sheen of 
her chestnut hair, made a spot of light in the dark 
old room. Lady Pevensey glanced at her, and made 
up her mind that her daughter-in-law, well-dressed, 
would be an exceedingly handsome young woman. 

“I don’t object to lamps and candles,” she said, 
“only there must be plenty of them. But never 
mind, Geoffrey ; your mother has come here to help 
to make things really comfortable for you. To-mor- 
row, or to-night, if you like, we will go into the 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


43 


subject of the redecoration of your house — quite a 
charming old house, if well arranged, but as it now 
is, perfectly hideous.” 

‘T like it as it is,” said Betty. 

‘‘Of course you do,” interrupted Laura. 
“Mother,” she continued, “can’t you see that Betty 
has a headache and cannot be bothered ?” 

“Oh, very well, my dear,” said Lady Pevensey, 
highly offended. “If my daughter-in-law finds her 
husband’s mother ” 

“Oh, dear me, mums!” interrupted Laura again. 
“Don’t take offence. Betty delights in having you, 
but as she happens to have a headache she cannot 
give all proper attention to your excellent recipes 
with regard to household management.” 

The Rector now steered skilfully past the shoals 
on which Lady Pevensey was determined to wreck 
the peace of the dinner-table. He asked questions 
about old friends, and soon mother and son were 
deep in discussions about the past. Laura hardly 
spoke, but glanced from time to time at Betty. 

Betty was a revelation to her. She felt herself 
admiring her sister-in-law as she had never thought 
to do, beginning dimly to understand why Geof- 
frey, that most fastidious of mortals, had mar- 
ried the untrained, unaccomplished daughter of a 
brother rector. 


44 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


“There is something unusual in her/’ thought 
Laura — “steadfastness, truth, courage, and a soul 
shines beyond those eyes. She makes me uncom- 
fortable. I wouldn’t follow in her steps for crea- 
tion, but I like her, all the same.” 

As soon as dinner was over, Betty, without cere- 
mony, ran up to her bedroom. 

“I can’t bear it,” was the thought in her heart. 

She hastily removed the finery she had been forced 
to wear at dinner, and putting on a serviceable blue 
serge, wrapped a cloak round her and ran down- 
stairs. The Rector met her in the hall. 

“Ready ?^’ he said. 

“Yes, Geofif,” she answered. 

“I will take you there, but have you prepared any- 
thing in case of an emergency ?” 

“What do you mean?” 

The Rector smiled at her. His smile was as a 
sudden radiance. He disappeared for a minute, 
returning with a small basket. 

“You will find sal volatile and other stimulants 
here,” he said. “There is one thing, Betty, too, that 
I should like to mention. You must not sit up all 
night without food. Get poor Mrs. Hinton to make 
you some tea; she is celebrated for her tea.” 

“Oh, Geofif,” said Betty, “how can I touch it?” 

“That is just what you must do,” said the Rector. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


45 


*‘You will help her in giving her employment. Now 
come, dear, we must be off.’' 

They left the house quickly ; not a word was said 
of Lady Pevensey (who was storming in the draw- 
ing-room), nor of Laura, who was trying to subdue 
her mother’s tantrums. 

you will shut your eyes to the very object of a 
clergyman’s profession, you must take the conse- 
quences, mother,” was Laura’s remark. 

‘T don’t say anything about Geoffrey,” answered 
Lady Pevensey; ‘‘it is his wife who treats me with 
open disrespect. What right has she to give her 
evening to anyone else on the occasion of my first 
visit ?” 

“Geoff thinks his wife is part of himself, and 
therefore must help him,” said Laura. “Besides, 
the case in point is exceedingly unusual and most, 
most painful. Shall I tell it to you?” 

“Not for worlds! Get the bridge cards and we’ll 
play double dummy.” 

Laura thankfully complied. As she sorted the 
cards, her mother remarked : 

“That’s a handsome girl, notwithstanding her odd 
ways.” 

“Beautiful is my verdict with regard to her,” said 
Laura. “Besides ” she added. 

“Besides what?” asked Lady Pevensey. 


46 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


‘Tiers is the sort of face that could never belong 
to anyone without a beautiful soul shining through 
it from within/’ 

“It’s my turn to deal first,” was Lady Pevensey’s 
response. 

The ladies played for an hour or more. Mean- 
while, Betty had reached that humble part of Dart- 
minster where Mrs. Hinton lived. The Rector went 
first up the stairs. Betty followed behind him. He 
tapped at the door, behind which the poor woman 
was sitting in her desolation. There was no reply. 
He opened it, bent his tall head a trifle, and entered, 
followed by Betty. 

Mrs. Hinton was seated by the little table where 
Betty had found her that afternoon. No change had 
been made in its appearance. The home-made brown 
loaf was still there; so also was the clean white 
cloth. The cups and saucers were waiting — the 
plates, the knives. There was still the vacant arm- 
chair by the hearth, and the slippers that poor Jack 
Hinton would never wear again placed close to it. 
There also was the tiny table with its pile of books. 
The ardent young scholar would never need them 
more. 

Betty felt a great lump in her throat, for a minute 
a sense of giddiness, almost sickness, took possession 
of her ; but the Rector’s manner recalled her to her- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


47 


self. He laid his hat on the table, went over to 
where the poor woman was sitting, and took one of 
her hands. 

“The Lord help thee in the day of trouble,” he 
said. “The God of Jacob defend thee.” 

There was no reply of any sort, but the cold hand 
trembled for an instant. Geoffrey Pevensey rose 
and motioned to his wife to come near. 

“Put your arms round her, Betty,” he said to the 
girl. “She wants something warm and living to 
touch her. Don’t be afraid,” he added in a whisper. 
“I want her to cry. Her grief will be terrible and 
tempestuous for a time, but she will be better after- 
wards.” 

Betty paused for an instant. Then she flung her- 
self impetuously into the breach. She knelt by the 
woman, deliberately raised the grey head and laid 
it on her own shoulder. She clasped the warm, liv- 
ing young arms round the frozen and shrunken 
body, and said in the murmuring tone which a 
mother might address to her child : 

“Don’t — don’t keep it all to yourself. Let me 
help you. I love you — yes, I love you.” 

There were tears flowing now, but not from the 
widow’s eyes; they were raining from Betty’s own. 
Some warm drops fell on the poor cold cheek. 

Mrs. Hinton sat very still for a minute. When 


48 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


at last she rose struggling out of Betty’s embrace, 
Betty also looked round. The Rector was gone. 
Mrs. Hinton glanced at the girl. 

“You think,” she said, speaking slowly and with 
great effort, “that a few of those drops” — she 
pointed to the tears still wet on Betty’s cheeks — 
“and a soft, bonny young face pressed to mine, and 
arms, round and young, clasping me ’ull do me any 
good. I tell you, ma’am. I’m homeless, penniless, 
loveless. He is gone — my best boy — he is dead. 
They’re bringing him along home soon — that is, 
wot’s left of him, I mean. When he comes, you’ll 
be pleased to go out, ma’am; I don’t want no one 
else nigh me when my boy — wot’s left of him — is 
here. It’s his own mother’ll lie alongside of him 
to-night. Cold as the dead may be, his mother — 
maybe — will warm him a trifle. Ah! cold as the 
dead may be, it can’t freeze the love for him in my 
old heart.” 

She went to the fireplace, suddenly seized the 
kettle, and retired into her scullery to fill it with 
water. 

“I’ll set the kettle boiling,” she said; “the place 
must be as he’d like to see it ef he was coming back 
alive instead of dead.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Betty, suddenly; “tell me, please, 
how he liked to have it? I can guess so well.” 


BETTY or THE KECTOKY 


49 


‘"You!” said the widow, pausing and looking with 
contempt at the girl. “You ! You never had a son. 
Maybe you’ll have bonny children some day, and 
you’ll be as proud as proud can be of ’em — as proud 
as I was — anij I mean — of him. But don’t you think 
you’ll keep ’em. They’ll be tuk from you, all in a 
flash ; in the twinklin’ of an eye they that was will 
be no more. That’s the way God serves out His 
mercies to us poor women; that is so. When He 
meted out that my Jack was to die to-day, did He 
think once that I’d be left — ^homeless, penniless, 
loveless ? You answer me that, ma’am ; you put that 
question to yourself and answer it to me straight 
out.” 

Betty was puzzled. 

“I know you are wrong,” she began. “God, the 
beautiful God, did not say to Himself, T am going 
to make that woman, that poor woman, homeless, 
penniless, loveless to-day, because I like to do it. I 
am going to do it because ’ ” 

“Why?” said Mrs. Hinton. She came close to 
the girl, and stared into her face. “You tell me that, 
you young gel, that know nothing ?” 

“Because God is Love,” said Betty. “Young as 
I am, I know that much. He has done it for a 
reason that we cannot see yet, but some day we shall. 


50 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
in the morning/ ’’ 

“You talk cant, you do,” said Mrs. Hinton. 

She sank down in the nearest chair, and lapsed 
into stony silence. After a minute, she said : 

“Perhaps, Mrs. Pevensey, you will tell me those 
words again when your own turn comes. Perhaps 
you will speak them once more when your heart is 
cut through and through — cut as though a sword 
had pierced it, and when the one you love is taken 
from you. If you say them then I will believe you, 
but not before.” 

She got up and went into the other room. There 
she struck a match and lit a candle. Betty could look 
in. She saw at a glance that it was the room where 
the woman herself habitually slept. It was a neat 
little room, a small bed with a white counterpane 
over it occupying the principal position, and all its 
appointments in perfect order. Mrs. Hinton came 
out and passed into another room. This was smaller, 
but also exquisitely neat. Presently, still holding the 
candle in her hand, she motioned to Betty to follow 
her. 

“Look,” she said: “this is his room — small, of 
course; he always gave the best to me. This is the 
bed where he lay last night, and slept the healthy 
sleep of the strong and the young. It was from this 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


51 


bed he rose this morning when I went to call him. 
He had to be at the factory early — at six o’clock. 
I always called him at five; he liked to have plenty 
of time. Do you see all his things lying about? 
That’s his Sunday coat hanging at the back of the 
door ; it’s a very neat coat, isn’t it ? and there are his 
boots that he wore when he went to church. I was 
planning to make a curtain to put over his coats and 
things to keep the dust away ; it was to be a sort of 
surprise for him. Here are some books that 
he bought a week back ; he was saving up 

pence at the time for ’em. He got ’em cheap, 

he said to me. 'Mother,’ said he, ‘there are 

lots o’ cheap books going now, and good ’uns 

at that. I can fill my mind, mother, with this 
sort of reading.’ I never could make them out 
myself, but he took a sight o’ pleasure in them. Yes, 
this is his room ; he won’t never go into it any more. 
It’s on his mother’s own bed he’ll lie to-night, when 
they bring him back. He always gave the best to 
me — the best room, the best corner by the fire, and 
ever and ever he’d be thinking of little comforts for 
me. Now it’d be a fresh egg that I’d maybe fancy, 
but wouldn’t afford for myself, and then again it’d 
be a pair o’ slippers for my poor feet ; that is, when 
they was took with the rheumatics ; and another time 
a warm pair of bed socks, for I do suffer cruel with 


52 


BETTY OE THE KECTOEY 


the cold o’ winter nights. Ah dear! Ah dear! it’s 
well for you to quote Scripture. Think what I’ve 
lost.” 

“I do,” said Betty. 

The woman held lip her hand imperiously. 

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” she said. “It’s 
poor consolation one gets from a young thing that 
knows nothing at all. I tell you — I’m homeless, 
loveless, penniless. Did I hear you say a while ago 
that you loved me? Well, take back your love; I 
don’t want it — a young creature that I never laid 
eyes on till to-day, do you suppose that you’ll ever 
try to take the place of him who was born of my 
body, who was bone of my bone, and flesh of my 
flesh, who I bore in sore travail, and risked my life 
for? Do you think, you bit of a young, ignorant 
gel, that you can in any way fill the sore place in 
my empty heart? He was the light of my eyes, the 
joy of my life ! There ain’t nothing nor no one who 
can make up to me for him, so don’t you try it on.” 

Having said her say, Mrs. Hinton put the candle 
on the top of her own little chest of drawers, and 
began to arrange the bed, turning down the counter- 
pane, and taking fresh sheets from a drawer, laying 
them on smooth and tidy. Betty went forward to 
help her, but she contemptuously moved her aside. 

“Don’t you try it on. Ain’t these the last things I 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


53 


can do for him ? Let me make his bed myself. Soon 
they’ll come to fit him for his coffin, but he’ll lie in 
sweet linen sheets smelling of lavender and rose- 
mary ; the best his mother has shall be his ; and when 
they secure the lid on the coffin, my heart will go, 
too. Oh, God Almighty!” — the poor, desolate 
creature fell on her knees — “take me, too! take me, 
too! Bury us in one grave together — God — if you 
are a God of love!” 

The silence in the little room was profound. Betty 
heard the little kettle beginning to sing in the outer 
room. She went softly back. Her impotence and 
powerlessness to touch this sorrow was borne in 
upon her profoundly. 

Just then there came steps on the stairs, a mur- 
muring of voices, all speaking in a subdued key. 
The steps as they approached sounded heavy. They 
were, beyond doubt, the steps of those who carried a 
burden. Mrs. Hinton ran from her bedroom. She 
put up her hand to one ear to listen to the steps. Her 
deadly white face became suffused with a sudden 
purple. 

“He’s a-coming in,” she said — “last time home — 
my boy — oh, my boy!” 

She took not the slightest notice of Betty, but put 
her hand to her head. Her eyes had a wild, strained 
expression. There came a heavy knock at the door. 


54 


BETTY OF THE KECTORY 


Betty would have opened it, but the mother suddenly 
saw and forestalled her. 

‘"No,” she said, ‘‘you keep back! I will see my 
own boy home the last time!” and she flung the door 
of the kitchen wide. “Come in,” she said, as some 
men appeared, carrying a body on a stretcher. 
“Come right in ; you are honored guests, all of you. 
Lay him along in this room — my lad — oh ! my lad!” 

The men entered softly. There were four of 
them. They laid the dead boy on his mother’s bed. 
One of them glanced at Betty, and tried to say some- 
thing, but couldn’t. One of them said to the widow : 

“Can I do nothing more for you, ma’am ?” 

“Nothing at all,” she said. “Leave me with my 
boy.” 

All four men looked at Betty as they withdrew, 
carrying the stretcher on which they had borne the 
body with them. The door closed behind them, and 
their retreating footsteps were heard on the stairs. 
There was an interval of perfect silence. Then Mrs. 
Hinton put out her head from the bedroom door.. 

“I am staying alongside of my boy,” she said. 
“You can do as you please.” 

Betty sank down into the easy-chair which had 
been prepared for Jack Hinton. Her feet touched 
the slippers which the dead lad had worn. Her head 
was swimming. For a time she could not even think 


BETTY OE THE BECTOEY 


55 


coherently. Then, quite suddenly, she flung herself 
on her knees ; her pent-up grief, her anguish of pity, 
that terrible pity which avails nothing at all, found 
relief. Her confidence in her God was restored. It 
seemed to her that the Lord God Almighty Himself 
was leading her, and that just now what He most 
wanted her to do in all the wide world was to wait — 
to sit still and wait His good pleasure. 


CHAPTER V 


Towards morning the Rector called for his wife. 
He brought a woman to stay with Mrs. Hinton. 
Betty was seated in a fireless room, her face ghastly 
white and drawn. The Rector softly opened the 
bedroom door and looked in at the poor mother. 
Her arms were clasped tightly round the dead man. 
Her face was as white as his. She was either asleep 
or unconscious. The Rector, after a moment’s 
pause of unwillingness, touched her. She opened 
her eyes drearily. 

‘‘You must come and have some tea,” he said. 
“Get up at once.” 

He spoke almost sternly. 

“My wife has been sitting in your kitchen all 
night. She is cold and stiff ; she will be ill, unless 
you see to her. Get her tea immediately, and relight 
your fire. Come.” 

He gave no word of sympathy. The woman 
looked at him sullenly. Then a new expression came 
over her face. She hurried into the kitchen. The 
Rector stood silent while Mrs. Hinton relit the fire, 
put the kettle on to boil, and made tea for Betty. 

68 


BETTY OE THE EECTOEY 


57 


Betty felt as though she must choke. 

“Drink it, dear,” said her husband. 

“Yes, do ’e,” said Mrs. Hinton. 

It was the first reasonable sentence she had uttered 
since the crushing blow had fallen upon her. She 
laid her shivering cold hand on the hand of the girl. 

“It’s death that is everywhere,” she said. 

“No, no ; you are mistaken there,” said the Rector. 
“It is glorious life that is everywhere. Don’t you 
know what the Bible says — that if you put a seed 
of corn into the ground, it grows and multiplies and 
fills the earth, and that is the way with those we love 
who die in the faith. There is no real death here. 
Listen to me, Mrs. Hinton. Your Jack was the 
best fellow I have ever met. He was good all round. 
He had the simple faith of a child, and the unselfish- 
ness of a man. Do you think he would have let my 
wife stay alone all night long in this room at the 
risk of her health and strength? Don’t you think 
he’d have taken a little care of her? If you love him, 
as I know you do, follow in his steps.” 

The widow looked keenly at the Rector. 

“You’re about right,” she said. “Madam, I beg 
your pardon.” 

Betty laid her hand on Mrs. Hinton’s. 

“Follow in his steps ; do follow in his steps,” said 
Betty. 


58 


BETTY OF THE RECTOKY 


‘‘That’s a thought,” said Mrs. Hinton. 

She immediately went to a cupboard, and brought 
out the identical 4oaf of brown bread which had been 
prepared for Hinton himself. She cut a slice and 
buttered it. 

“Eat — do ’e, now,” she said. 

Betty ate and drank. The Rector asked for a cup 
of tea and drank it. 

“You’re very brave,” he said then to the mother. 
“Before we go, will you do something else?” 

She looked at him fixedly, her hard eyes still 
unsoftened, and yet full of hidden fire. 

“Continue to follow in your boy’s footsteps. 
Drink some tea yourself; eat some bread and but- 
ter.” 

“My throat is closed,” she said. 

“Try,” said the Rector. 

He held a cup of tea towards her. She took a sip 
— another; there was a gurgling sound. Then the 
poor woman’s face worked passionately, and the 
long pent-up tears began to flow. Never in all her 
life had Betty witnessed such anguish; but when it 
was over, the hard expression had left the poor face. 

“I will come to you presently,” said the Rector. 
“Meanwhile, I have asked Mrs. Grice, your next- 
door neighbor, to sit with you. The Almighty is 
leading you on to a higher life, but the furnace is 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


59 


very fierce. Don’t let *go of that faith which has 
enabled your boy to see God.” 

Then the Rector drew his wife’s hand through his 
arm and led her home. 

A few days afterwards there was a funeral at 
Dartminster, which was largely attended both by the 
rich and poor of the place. Soon Mrs. Hinton, by 
the Rector’s arrangement, was sent away for a time 
to stay in a convalescent home. She was thoroughly 
broken down, but the hardness, the passionate re- 
bellion which she had evinced on the night which 
Betty had spent with her, seemed, to all appearance, 
gone. She was quiet now, and almost gentle in her 
manner. Sometimes those who were close to her 
heard her say: “I must follow in his steps,” and 
then she would rouse herself, almost unwillingly, to 
do an unwonted act of kindness — doing it gruffly 
and ungraciously, but still doing it. 

On the day before she went away, she called at 
the Rectory to see Mrs. Pevensey. 

‘T have to thank you, madam,” she said, ‘Tor 
your goodness to me during that awful night. I 
remember the words you said : ‘Sorrow may endure 
for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ I am 
trying hard to live as my Jack would like, were he 
still in the world, and I am obliged to you, ma’am,” 
she added, speaking coldly and without enthusiasm, 


60 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


'Tor what you did for me that night. But it takes 
a deal o’ knowledge to understand the sorrows of the 
poor, and what I said then is true. ’Tain’t only that 
my boy is gone — he, who was my sunshine, and filled 
my heart with love — ^but my home goes with him. 
My money goes with him. In losing him I have lost 
all. Nevertheless, madam, I pray for you, that when 
your time of great sorrow comes, you will be able 
to exercise the faith you spoke of to me. I wish you 
good-day now, ma’am. You have been very good to 
me, and so has Rector.” 

The poor woman went away. She stayed for a 
month in the convalescent home and got quite well, 
at least in body. Then, by the Rector’s instru- 
mentality, she was given a post as matron in a small 
second-class school. 

Betty could not help owning to a sense of relief 
when Mrs. Hinton left Dartminster. All these 
things happened quickly, for events hurry with the 
poor. When there is no money, a decided course of 
action must be pursued, and Lady Pevensey was still 
at the Rectory when Mrs. Hinton paid her farewell 
visit to Betty. Betty was not the same since that 
dreadful night which she had spent in the woman’s 
rooms. She often started in her sleep, and cried out 
in terror, and once she clung frantically to her hus- 
band and said : 


BETTY OE THE EECTOBY 


61 


‘‘Mrs. Hinton told me that I was to test myself 
when my day of sorrow came. She said I knew 
nothing about trouble now — nothing at all.” 

The Rector’s reply was to kiss and comfort his 
wife, to assure her that she had acted like a little 
brick in the case of poor Mrs. Hinton, and had 
thereby endeared herself to every poor man and 
woman in the neighborhood. 

“They are all talking about you, Betty,” he said, 
“and all praising you. You won their hearts, every 
man, woman and child of them, by the way you 
acted on that night. As to the poor distracted 
mother, try not to think of her too much, my darling, 
but believe and ever preach the great doctrine of the 
love of God.” 

If the Rector said cheerful and sustaining words 
to his wife. Lady Pevensey by no means followed his 
example. On the day before she left Dartminster 
to continue her round of visits with Laura, it so 
happened that she and her young daughter-in-law 
were alone. 

Betty had lost her radiant color. Her face was 
thereby considerably robbed of its beauty. Lady 
Pevensey, who had kept well out of the way while 
the Hinton tragedy — as she expressed it — was going 
on, now thought that the moment had come for her 
to interfere. 


62 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


‘T am glad we are alone,” she said. ‘T wanted 
to have an opportunity of talking with you.” 

“Yes,” said Betty. 

“Pour me out some tea, child. Draw your chair 
up close to the fire. Really, these days in early Octo- 
ber are becoming quite chilly, and a fire is grateful. 
Well, we’ll be off, Laura and I, by this time to-mor- 
row. I have no doubt you will consider us a good 
riddance.” 

“Oh, no,” answered Betty. “You cannot sup- 
pose,” she continued, “that Geoffrey’s mother could 
be anything but welcome to me.” 

Lady Pevensey bent forward. 

“I wonder if you always speak the truth, Betty 
Pevensey,” she said. 

“I try to,” she answered. 

“But you have not spoken it now.” 

“Ihave.” 

“You don’t like me; don’t pretend for a moment 
that you do.” 

Betty considered. 

“For yourself — perhaps not,” she said then; “but 
for Geoffrey’s sake, yes. He loves you; all those he 
loves must be loved by me.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said Lady Pevensey, dryly. 
“I can see, Betty, that you are very much devoted 
to your husband, and naturally her dear boy cares 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


63 


for his mother and for Laura. Now, to speak 
frankly, Laura admires you very much.” 

“I love her,” said Betty. 

‘‘And, to speak out frankly,” continued Lady 
Pevensey, “I admire your appearance, but your char- 
acter is quite out of touch with mine. I have no 
sympathies' with you ; we don’t touch on any one 
point; we are naturally antagonistic the one to the 
other.” 

“Oh, don’t say so ; how dreadful that would be !” 

“But it is true, and I imagined that you, at least, 
would invariably speak the truth. But let me pro- 
ceed; I will tell you frankly what I feel. You are 
very much devoted to your husband.” 

“Yes,” said Betty, slowly. She spoke deliberately. 
Her “yes” had a solid sound about it as though it 
carried weight. 

“I can see it,” said Lady Pevensey, impatiently, 
“and of course you are quite unaware of the fact 
you are spoiling him.” 

Betty gave an inquiring glance at the speaker. 

“Yes,” said Lady Pevensey. “I told Laura that 
I’d speak to you. She begged me not, but I really 
must be guided by what I think right myself. You 
have married, my dear, a man of very peculiar ten- 
dencies. His nerves are too highly strung for his 
own peace of mind. You, in every particular, foster 


64 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


that part of his character which ought to be sup- 
pressed, and by your injudicious enthusiasm sup- 
press all those parts of his nature which ought to be 
strengthened. For instance, he is fifty thousand 
times too unworldly. You, if possible, add another 
quota to that unworldliness. The very manner in 
which you and he conducted yourselves over that 
poor woman Hinton — sad as the case undoubtedly 
was — speaks for itself. The poor woman, through 
an accident — alas! common enough in all manufac- 
tories — lost her son. You took up her case to the 
extreme discomfort of myself, and to the breach of 
ordinary good manners. That, however, was a 
trifle. But, from all accounts, you did the poor 
creature little or no good by spending the whole of 
one night with her. She didn’t want you. When 
do the poor want the rich? — for, of course, com- 
pared to her, you may class yourself amongst the 
wealthy. She showed you very plainly that she 
didn’t require you — I gathered as much from Laura, 
who heard some particulars from Geoffrey. Since 
that night you have been worn out, weak, woe-be- 
gone. Now tell me, Betty, do tell me — how are you 
to live this life if these sort of things go on? There 
will always be calamities amongst the poor, as, alas ! 
there are calamities amongst the rich, and if for 
every accident and every loss of life you wear your- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


65 


self to a thread of paper, what sort of creature will 
you be in a couple of years ? It’s bad enough to see 
Geoffrey straining every nerve day and night, in an 
impossible cause; for we never, alas! can make the 
world anything but a very so-so place. But if he is 
to find his wife as strained and overdone as himself, 
let me tell you at once, my dear, that you will have 
to face catastrophe.” 

'What do you mean ?” 

‘T told Laura that I would tell you. Your hus- 
band is not the sort of man to do without a com- 
monplace, matter-of-fact life. He cannot get it in 
his work, therefore he ought to find it in his wife.” 

"Is that all ?” said Betty. 

Her face was very white, her lips quivering. 

"There is a great deal more,” said Lady Pevensey. 
"Laura says you ought not to know, but I think the 
only chance for Geoffrey is for you to be informed.” 

Betty suddenly sprang to her feet. She remem- 
bered the day before her wedding — that thing which 
her husband had not told her, that thing which she 
and he had arranged she was never to know until one 
of two conditions occurred. She trembled exceed- 
ingly, and sat down white as death. 

"There,” said Lady Pevensey, "I knew exactly 
what sort of wife Geoffrey ought to have had. There 
was a girl in town — a Miss Weston — hard as nails, 


66 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


popular, a certain power in society, clever as she 
could be, and she’d have married him if he had 
asked her. I know she would, for, my dear, he is 
awfully handsome; and she had money, too — plenty 
of money, but I suppose that doesn’t much affect 
you.” 

Betty was silent. Her hands were clasped together 
on her lap. After a long time she spoke. 

'‘Tell me,” she said, “how I ought to live so as 
best to help my husband?” 

These words, uttered very gently, surprised and 
delighted Lady Pevensey. 

“There, now you have sense,” she said, “and you 
enable me to speak. If you are sensible you may 
avert calamity. You don’t choose to hear what the 
calamity is; therefore I need not tell you. It is a 
great relief to me, I can assure you.” 

“What am I to do?” said Betty. “Just tell me 
what — what — Miss Weston would have done.” 

She felt a very vehement, worldly hatred in her 
heart towards Miss Weston as she uttered the last 
words. 

“Oh, dear!” said Lady Pevensey. “You ought not 
to encourage him to talk so much about his poor, and 
he ought not to get over-excited over his sermons. 
Now, on Sunday last, in church, I grant you that 
Geoffrey did preach a most stirring and admirable 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


67 


sermon. But do you suppose it brought tears from 
me? I know the preacher’s function and — so to 
speak — the tricks of the trade. Laura, too,- was as 
cool as a cucumber. But you, my dear Betty ; there 
you sat, your cheeks on fire and the tears in your 
eyes; your very hands trembled — and he saw it — I 
know he saw it.” 

“Oh, he spoke to my heart,” said Betty. “If I do 
him harm in feeling what he says, I will get behind 
a pillar, or hide myself in some way ; but not to care, 
not to feel, is impossible.” 

“I knew it,” said Lady Pevensey. “Well, you are 
going the wrong way to work. He ought to get an 
extra curate. He cannot work his huge parish with- 
out further assistance, and from time to time you 
ought to bring him to London, and you ought to 
encourage him to go out to dinner and mix with 
those people in this God-forsaken place who are 
willing to entertain you both. Never was I in a 
more dreary spot. Then, too, you ought to refur- 
nish this house. It really is too hideous as now 
arranged. Geoffrey can very well spend a few hun- 
dred pounds for the purpose, and, for that matter, I 
am willing to add my dole. I will put a cheque for 
three hundred pounds to your account in your bank 
if you will promise to deal with this room on receiv- 
ing it.” 


68 BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 

‘^But — what is the matter with the room?” said 
Betty. 

'‘Matter, my dear — matter? It is simply hideous. 
Look at this carpet.” 

'Tt is a very suitable carpet for what we want. 
You see we want all the room in this house for use, 
not ornament.” 

"That is just what I complain of. It shows your 
crass ignorance. You ought not to have this beauti- 
ful room turned into a place for mothers’ meetings. 
There’s that old school-room ; I explored it the other 
day with Laura. It would do admirably for the 
mothers, and you could have cheap linoleum put on 
the floor and benches round the walls.” 

"But, dear Lady Pevensey,” said Betty; "the 
mothers do so love to come to my drawing-room ; it 
is half the battle to let them sit in this room, and 
afterwards they go about and examine the pictures, 
and my little ornaments ; they think them qiute beau- 
tiful, Lady Pevensey; they talk about them together 
and go to their own poor little homes and try in their 
own way to imitate what they have seen here. They 
would hate to come to a bare room covered with 
linoleum and with benches round the walls.” 

"I see, I see,” said Lady Pevensey. "Well, if you 
think less of your husband and his health than you 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


69 


do of the mothers of this parish, I wash my hands of 
the matter.” 

Lady Pevensey rose as she spoke. 

*Tf ever you want my advice I will be glad to give 
it to you. Laura and I will be back in London by 
the end of November, and there is no reason why 
you and Geoffrey should not come up and pay us a 
visit for the inside of a week. It will do you both a 
world of good; you are a mass of nerves, the pair 
of you, and how you are to pull along in double 
harness no one knows.” 


CHAPTER VI 


On the evening after Lady Pevensey and Laura 
left Dartminster, Betty sat alone by her fire. It was 
nearly time to go up to dress for dinner. Of late she 
had been rather remiss in this particular, glad to 
escape the fatigue of putting on dinner dress. It is 
true that while Lady Pevensey and Laura were there 
she was forced to yield to circumstances, but on this 
night, surely, she might wear the warm blue serge 
which she had put on when she first rose that morn- 
ing. She need not want to improve her appearance. 
She was feeling sadly depressed, but, relieved as she 
was at the absence of her visitors, nevertheless, in 
her heart of hearts, she missed them. 

While she was thinking, the fire grew low. The 
lamps were unlit, the room presented a desolate 
appearance. Betty took note of none of these things ; 
she was absorbed in a cloud of depression which had 
come over her so suddenly that she could not com- 
bat it. 

Suddenly the door was opened, and Helen came 
in with a lamp in her hand. She placed it on a little 
table close to her mistress, then bent down to do up 
70 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


Y1 

the fire. She piled on coals and swept up the hearth 
clean. She then proceeded to draw the curtains at 
the windows, and finally turned and glanced at her 
mistress. 

‘Tf you please, ’m,” she said, “I scarcely like to 
give the message, still I did in a sort of way 
promise.'' 

“What message, Helen?” asked Betty, rousing 
herself and turning towards the girl. “Is it from 
one of the poor people?” 

“Oh, no, ma'am,” said Helen. 

“Well, give it to me, whatever it is. Why should 
you fear?” 

Helen got very red. 

“It seems sort o' disrespectful,” she said. 

“Never mind,” said Betty, with a smile; “that 
isn't your fault. I wish to hear it. Please tell me 
at once.” 

“It's from Miss Pevensey, ma'am. As she was 
getting into the cab to-day, she turned to me and 
said: Wou have got spunk in you; see now that 
your mistress bucks up.' She made me promise as 
I'd say it to you, ma’am ; and I have said it, though 
I am very unwilling.” 

Betty laughed. 

“Nobody minds what Miss Pevensey says,” she 
remarked ; ‘‘and I am not at all offended.” 


72 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


“Em glad of that, ma’am,” said Helen. ‘T think 
master is in, and the dressing-gong has sounded.” 

She left the room. Betty indulged in a low laugh. 

“How like Laura!” she said to herself. “How 
impertinent, and at the same time delightful of her! 
The idea of her employing my own maid to give me 
such a message. Well, dear Laura, I will do for you 
what I wouldn’t do for any other soul to-night; I 
will buck up.” 

She sprang to her feet, crossed the room briskly 
and ran up to her bedroom. There she put on a 
particularly pretty dinner dress, stuck a rose into her 
bright hair and came downstairs just as the rector 
entered the drawing-room. He started when he saw 
her. 

“You are not going out, darling?” he said. 

“No,” she answered, “but I have dressed for you, 
Geoff.” 

“You needn’t, dear,” he replied; “that is, unless 
you wish.” 

Betty felt as though a cold douche had been 
administered to her. She managed to say after a 
minute : 

“Well, then, I do wish, for I want you to admire 
me.” 

Geoffrey laughed, and drew her close to him. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 73 

‘T wonder if you really think that it is because of 
your dress I care for you ?” he asked. 

She laughed. 

“Never mind about my dress now,” she said. 
“Tell me something. Have you to go out to-night 
again?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“To no church service?” she queried. “To no 
meeting for the improvement of young men?” 

“I have not to go out at all.” 

“Good — good !” she answered. “Only I wish you 
were in dinner.dress.” 

“The dinner-gong has sounded, Betty, but if you 
particularly wish it I will go up and dress. I don’t 
suppose you mind cold soup.” 

“But you do,” said Betty, who suddenly felt a 
rush of good spirits. “I will repeat your own words. 
I love you quite outside the fact of your dress. Now 
come and eat. Think of our having a whole evening 
to ourselves. It will almost be like a honeymoon 
over again.” 

They went into the great dining-room. The din- 
ner was good, and they both enjoyed it. When 
they returned to the drawing-room, Betty nestled up 
close to her husband. 

“I want to tell you what Laura said.” 


Y4 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


“Oh, Laura he replied. “I am glad you like her. 
She really is quite a fine creature.’’ 

“She is,” said Betty. “I think her worth — oh, 
well — I can’t help it, Geofif — I get on with her bet- 
ter than I do with Lady Pevensey.” 

“I expected you would. But tell me what she 
said.” 

“She gave a message to Helen to tell me to 
buck up.” 

Pevensey laughed and then looked grave. 

“Laura ought not to make free with the servants 
in that fashion,” he said. “But there,” he added, 
“she is incorrigible. She will have her own way 
about everything.” 

“Geofif,” said Betty, “Lady Pevensey had a long 
talk with me yesterday. She wants me to refurnish 
this room.” 

“What for?” 

“In her opinion, it is hideous. She doesn’t 
wish me to use it for mothers’ meetings.” 

“My dear Betty,” said the Rector, “are we to keep 
back any part of our possessions from the work of 
the Lord?” 

“I don’t want to,” said Betty. “I told her all 
about the poor women, and how they do admire my 
little ornaments. But she said I must do my duty 
to you.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


75 

‘T know what she is thinking about/^ said the 
Rector. *‘But she knows just too much, and too 
little. The fact is this, Betty. My mother and I 
are not really and truly in touch. She never wanted 
me to take Holy Orders. She was ambitious for 
me, but her ambitions could not embrace the highest 
life of all — poor mother! I don’t think, my Betty, 
that we’ll spend extra money on this room.” 

‘'She implored of me to brighten your life, to get 
you into what little society there is in this place : she 
even — warned me,” said Betty. 

Her face grew very white as she spoke. The 
Rector bent down to her, placed his hand under her 
chin, and looked into her eyes. She met his gaze 
steadily. 

"You remember our bargain,” she said then. "I 
am ready at any minute.” 

"It is all right,” he said, somewhat harshly. Then 
he sat very moody for a time. His arm, which had 
been placed round his wife’s waist, relaxed its grip. 
She glanced at him, and suddenly a conviction that 
his mother was right, and that Geoff was the sort 
of man whose mind ought to be kept healthily occu- 
pied at all times visited her. 

"What I feel about you is this,” she said. "You 
are the best man I know, but in a great parish like 
Dartminster your nerves may be overstrained.” 


BETTY OE THE BECTOEY 


Y6 


“Nothing can help that,” he replied. 

“Now, Geoff, do be reasonable,” said Betty. “You 
know the old proverb : ‘All work and no play makes 
Jack a dull boy.’ Well, now I want Jack to have his 
play. Come, you must help me.” 

He looked at her, and shook his head. 

“You don’t want me to be miserable and down- 
cast,” she said, “and yet I shall — I shall be if I see 
you depressed and breaking down.” 

“Oh, if you want pleasure for yourself, that is 
quite another matter,” said Pevensey. 

Betty was quick to take her cue. 

“Yes,” she said, “I want to go out to dinner. I 
want to go to a concert — a good concert — now and 
then, and I want sometimes to accept your mother’s 
invitation, and in your company ; yes, in yours, dar- 
ling — to spend the inside of a week in town. It will 
do me good, and if I am cheerful, you will be cheer- 
ful. We have our long first winter before us. Let 
us make it a good one. The sun won’t shine out of 
these leaden skies much, but we can have sunshine 
at home.” 

“All right, Betty,” said her husband, “and that 
means ?” 

“Pretty dinner dress for me every evening,” she 
answered, touching her pale blue frock. “Accepting, 


BETTY OF THE RECTOBY 


77 


not declining invitations to dinner; tickets for con- 
certs to be purchased just for the helping of me, and 
the carrying of my mind into a new world; and 
books — books, Geoffrey ; books of light literature as 
well as deep. Oh, Geoff, you will say ‘Yes !’ ” 

“Of course I will.’’ 

“And,” continued Betty, looking round her draw- 
ing-room, “if I follow your mother’s advice in some 
things I may as well follow it in all. I can take some 
of the ugliest ornaments here into the great school- 
room, and put this carpet on the floor instead of the 
hideous linoleum. And I can hang pictures on the 
walls. I have a whole lot of colored illustrations 
from the great Christmas ‘Weeklies.’ Then this 
room shall be just for you and me, and for our vis- 
itors; for if we are entertained we must also enter- 
tain now and then.” 

“Very well, Betty,” said her husband, gravely. 
He looked at her in astonishment. “Where do you 
propose to get your new carpet, and, I presume, your 
new furniture, for this room?” 

“Dear old Geoff! There is an excellent shop in 
the fashionable part of Dartminster. I can patronize 
Hibbert’s shop to a certain extent, and send for 
other things to come down on approval from Lib- 
erty’s. Please come with me to-morrow to Hib- 
bert’s, to help me to choose a carpet.” 


78 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


‘Tn that case, the room must be repapered and 
painted, ’’ said Geoffrey. 

He found himself becoming interested. He had 
naturally the most refined and even aesthetic tastes. 
Betty laughed with glee when she saw some of the 
old sparkle filling his handsome eyes and the depres- 
sion leaving his face. They talked long together 
over what Betty was pleased to call her projects. 
She took great care to make her husband feel that 
he was intensely unselfish in yielding to her. 

When at last she went upstairs to bed, she could 
not help saying, as she crossed the floor of her bed- 
room : “O Laura, I have bucked up.” 

Betty got into bed, and soon fell sound asleep, 
but Pevensey remained up for a long time. He sat 
by the fire in the drawing-room — that room which 
was to be rendered sesthetic and modern and beauti- 
ful under Betty’s skill and his own really remarkable 
taste, and forgot the room, and failed to make up 
the fire, and even allowed the lamps to burn dim : for 
there was a shadow over him which only Betty her- 
self could keep at a distance, and he knew well that 
he was as one who flees, but flees in vain from an 
ever gaining, ever strengthening terror. 

‘‘How am I to keep it from her?” he said aloud at 
last. “O God in heaven ! why did I marry ? why did 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


79 


I yield to her wish? Why was I so cowardly? She 
is my darling — she is my world, and I have dragged 
her into this !’' 

There was anguish written on his brows, and his 
handsome face was convulsed in silent agony. After 
a time, he got up slowly and, taking one of the read- 
ing lamps, entered his study. He set it on a little 
table, and taking a key from his pocket, opened a 
small, delicately-carved, oak cupboard which stood 
in a corner of the room. From the topmost drawer 
he took a phial, held it between himself and the light, 
and looked at a number of tiny white globules which 
lay within. 

"‘Shall I? or shall I not?” he said to himself. 
“This means instant relief, but it also means — and I 
know it — danger. The doctor warned me against 
flying to this recourse ; but oh ! my God ! I must !” 

He took out the cork, counted three of the tiny 
globules into the palm of his hand, swallowed them, 
and then returned the phial to its hiding-place. 

When the Rector went upstairs, his brow was 
calm, and his heart beating steadily. Betty was 
awake. She called to him. 

“We might have moss green for the color of the 
carpet,” she said. “What do you say? Moss green 
will look so pretty in the summer, when we have the 


80 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


French windows open. It will seem to be a sort of 
continuation of the green, green lawn in the garden.” 

“Yes, that is a capital idea,” said Pevensey in his 
brightest tone. 


CHAPTER VII 


The drawing-room was refurnished. It was 
now a very pretty and modern-looking room, 
not too modern, for Betty’s taste and Pevensey’s 
were both excellent. It was the sort of room that 
visitors would remark on favorably; and the old 
schoolroom, receiving the drawing-room’s cast-off 
belongings, was quite appreciated by the mothers. 
Betty, too, could give them an additional treat by 
bringing one or two of the most respected and the 
most hard-working into the restored drawing-room 
to comment on its beauty. 

Betty dressed every evening for dinner, accepted 
all invitations for herself and her husband, and, in 
short, followed out Laura’s words to the letter. 

It was towards the end of October when her 
labors began. Christmas week brought many cares 
and responsibilities in its train, and when the New 
Year had fairly dawned Betty wrote to Lady Peven- 
sey. 

“I know you are at home now,” she said. “Will 
you invite Geoffrey and me to come to you for the 
inside of a week?” 


81 


82 


BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


She said nothing to her husband with regard to 
this letter, but she did not write it without careful 
premeditation. For Geoffrey was all this time 
forcing himself to be gay, but the strong, bright 
look which had so reassured Betty during their 
early married days had deserted his face. There 
were lines of care on his brow and round his mouth, 
and when he was not absolutely talking, his expres- 
sion was despondent in the extreme. He never cared 
now to be long alone with Betty, but he invariably 
found time to take her about. He seemed pleased 
when he had not a moment in his busy day to think. 

Two new curates had been appointed to the great 
parish, and Pevensey was in consequence not over- 
worked. Betty knew that they could very well spare 
the inside of a week for town, and waited eagerly 
for Lady Pevensey’s reply to her letter. 

It came one evening when the husband and wife 
were alone. They had just returned from a concert 
given by some members of the parish. It was a dull 
affair. The attendance was poor, and the music 
received without enthusiasm. Betty commented on 
the fact as she walked home by her husband’s side. 

‘T have a good mind to give a concert myself,” 
she said, ‘‘and to have all sorts of topical songs, the 
sort of songs which are not a bit vulgar and that 
are funny, and will make the people laugh. The 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


83 


music to-night was, of course, first-rate, but do you 
think, Geoff, for a single moment, Mrs. Malone and 
Peter Griffin understood it?’' 

'T suppose not, dear,” answered her husband. 

‘'And you were so grave, Geoffrey,” continued 
Betty, speaking almost with impatience. ‘T watched 
your face from behind a curtain, and do you know, 
it quite haunted me.” 

‘T hate being watched,” said Pevensey. 

Betty felt sorry she had spoken. She pressed his 
arm lovingly. 

‘T am sorry I did it,” she said. “But aren’t you 
well, darling?” 

“Yes, yes; absolutely well. I can’t endure being 
remarked upon.” 

They had now reached the Rectory, and Peven- 
sey opened the door with his latch-key. On the 
slab in the hall was Lady Pevensey ’s response to 
Betty’s letter. 

“Ah ! from my mother,” said the Rector. 

Betty tore the letter open eagerly. It was a joyful 
acceptance of Betty’s suggestion. Lady Pevensey 
would be delighted to welcome Geoffrey and Betty; 
Laura would also be at home. Lady Pevensey 
promised to give both the young people a good time. 

“You poor thing,” she wrote, “you can cast off all 
your sober garments. Come up to town, bent on 


84 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


fun and Christmas jollity. No more mothers’ meet- 
ings, no grocery tickets, no coal tickets. We’ll just 
think of ourselves and our own class for a few 
days.” 

“Did you write to my mother, Betty?” asked her 
husband. 

She looked full up into his face with her sweet 
eyes. 

“Yes,” she answered again. 

“And why, Betty?” 

“I thought, Geoff, that you needed change, and 
I knew that I did.” 

“Oh, then you find this place too much for you; 
you are tired of tending the Lord’s poor.” 

“I am not tired, but I am like a schoolgirl who 
needs a holiday, and you, my darling, are like a 
schoolboy who wants recreation. We’ll return all 
the fresher and braver to our work after we have 
had a right good time.” 

“Yes, yes; I understand that,” he replied with 
almost petulance, “but what I do not understand is 
your writing without letting me know.” 

“I was so afraid you would prevent me, Geoff.” 

Pevensey looked at his wife almost sternly for a 
minute, then he smiled. 

“Can you realize, Betty,” he said, “that I have 
been just pining for this?” 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


85 


‘‘Have you?” she replied, with a gay laugh. 

Then I am glad, very glad. When shall we go, 
Geoffrey? Will next week suit you?” 

“Perfectly,” was the reply. “We will go on Mon- 
day, and get home on Saturday evening. Now run 
up to your room, dearest ; I must answer one or two 
letters before I go to bed.” 

Pevensey left Betty abruptly, as was so often his 
fashion of late. When he found himself in his 
study, he gave a sigh of the most heartfelt relief. 
He had locked the door when he went in; now he 
stood with his back to the fire. Fires were always 
kept burning brightly in the Rectory. 

“What a little witch my Betty is!” he thought. 
“She has helped me all unknowingly just at the very 
moment when I must have broken down, but for 
the thought of this blessed relief and change. Yes, 
we’ll go to London next week, and I will see Pres- 
ton Dykes. If anyone can help me, he can.” 

Pevensey was thinking of one of the greatest 
nerve specialists of the day. He turned his face 
now towards the fire, forgetting all about the let- 
ters he meant to write. There was a look of relief 
all over his worn and pale features. He kept on 
gazing at the fire as though he saw visions of hope 
in it. Suddenly a thought came to him. It was 
evidently a disquieting thought, for he clenched one 


86 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


of his hands, and paced once or twice up and down 
the room. 

'T ought not to do it,” was his reflection. “But 
perhaps this will be the last — or very nearly the last 
time, and, whatever happens, I must have rest 
to-night. I am over-excited, and that which I dread 
comes close to me when I fail to sleep. I cannot lie 
broad awake by Betty’s side, and think and think all 
night long of the horror which may be approaching. 
Yes, to-night I will secure rest at any cost.” 

The Rector went swiftly to the little oak cup- 
board in the wall, took out the phial which contained 
the white globules, took six globules from the bot- 
tle, swallowed them, and returned the bottle to its 
place in the cupboard. Having done this, he sank 
into a chair, and looked into the flames. Gradually, 
but truly, the opiate which he had swallowed did its 
work. The tired lines were smoothed from his 
brow. His gaze was calm, still, reflective. He sat 
very quiet. Gradually his eyes closed, and he slept. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Early on Monday morning Mr. and Mrs. Peven- 
sey went to town. Lady Pevensey lived in a fash- 
ionable part of Mayfair. Her house was small but 
was furnished with perfect taste; all its appoint- 
ments were of the very best, and those who entered 
it felt an immediate sense of luxury surrounding 
them. 

When Betty and her husband arrived, a smart 
footman opened the door ; but Laura was standing 
in the hall. She ran up eagerly and kissed both her 
brother and sister-in-law with much heartiness. 

“Now this is too delicious!” she said. “I am 
going to enjoy myself. It is delightful to see you! 
Your room is ready for you; your fire is blazing 
merrily, and only this morning I put rose-colored 
silk shades on the electric lights. You had best not 
see mother, either of you, until you are ready for 
dinner. We have taken seats for the opera after- 
wards. They are playing Lohengrin to-night. We 
secured seats the day Betty’s letter arrived.” 

“Oh — oh!” said Betty; “isn’t it quite splendid, 
Geoff?” 


87 


88 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


She gave a gasp of pleasure. 

“You are lucky,” continued Laura, “for we don’t 
always have Wagner music in London. Now, Bet- 
tina, be sure you put on something pretty. Mother 
is anxious that you should make as good an effect 
as possible.” 

The husband and wife went into the beautiful 
room that had been prepared for them. Betty 
removed her sealskin jacket and stood for a minute 
by the fire warming her hands. 

“I do like soft things, and the pleasures of life, 
and comfort,” she said. “Oh, Geoffrey, think of 
not having to give out one coal ticket or one grocery 
ticket until this day week!” 

“We will forget the parish,” was his answer. 

“Yes,” she said, observing with delight that he 
looked in better spirits already. “We will not speak 
of it once.” 

“Agreed,” he replied. 

Laura knocked at the door. 

“Geoff, your dressing-room is at the other side 
of the passage. Mother’s maid, Mandeville, will 
come to help you to dress, Betty.” 

“Oh, thanks,” said Betty. 

Laura ran off. Geoffrey left his wife and went 
to the dressing-room. Mandeville presently came 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY §9 

in. She quickly unpacked Betty’s trunk, and then 
said : 

“My lady is dining a little later than usual 
to-night, madam ; would you like me to arrange your 
hair now?” 

“Thank you,” replied Betty. 

She seated herself before the long glass, and 
Mandeville, glancing from time to time at the sweet, 
bright face, took pains with her work. She saw 
that Betty had good features; that hers was not 
only beauty of expression and color, but also that 
her little nose was Grecian, and her lips beautifully 
cut. She arranged Betty’s very thick black hair in 
the most becoming manner, and put a solitary dia- 
mond star into its rich coils, so as just to show like 
a gleam of light above her forehead. 

“And now, madam, what dress will you wear? 
If I may suggest anything, I would say your white 
satin.” 

“But surely my wedding dress is too smart,” said 
Bett> . 

“Oh, by no means, madam. Lady Pevensey has 
taken a box at the opera, and I imagine that the 
dress will be suitable.” 

“Then I will wear it,” said Betty. 

After the maid had left her, she stood for a little 


90 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


looking at her own reflection in the long mirror. 
Geoffrey came in. He started when he saw her. 

‘‘Good gracious, Betty! Oh, Betty, the parish — 
it seems scarcely to exist. You are my bride again, 
and we are going to have a fresh honeymoon.” 

He caught her in his arms. She kissed him two 
or three times. 

“I am so happy,” she whispered, “that I can 
scarcely speak about it.” 

When Betty went downstairs with her husband, 
Lady Pevensey greeted them both warmly. She 
looked with approval at her daughter-in-law. 

“By the way,” she said, after a moment’s pause, 
“I have never given you your wedding present. 
You shall have it to-night. Laura, go to my room 
and bring me the jewel case.” 

Laura went, and returned almost immediately 
with an old leather case. Lady Pevensey took from 
the -case a row of diamonds. These she clasped 
round the girl’s white throat. 

“They suit you, Betty,” she said. 

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she ?” said Laura. 

Geoffrey was silent, but his eyes spoke his 
thoughts. Laura, who never could dress like any- 
body else, rustled about the room in a sort of coat 
of mail made practically of green beads. The beads 
were iridescent, and shone whenever she moved. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


91 


Laura wore her hair very high. She had a fine 
figure, and her queer dress suited her. Lady 
Pevensey, however, did not approve of it. 

“Why did you put on that hideous garment?” she 
said. “Those colors resemble the skin of a snake. 
Why do you choose such odd costumes ?” 

“Because I am odd myself, mother,” was the 
reply. “Ordinary dress would not suit me. Think 
of me in white satin and diamonds! Now, Betty 
looks superb in that magnificent although common- 
place attire; whereas I ” She shrugged her 

shoulders. “Sit here, Bettina,” she continued, “and 
let’s talk.” 

Dinner was quickly announced. Afterwards, 
Lady Pevensey’s private motor-car arrived, and 
they went to the opera. The music was all that 
Betty most loved. 

“What an evening we had!” she said, later on, 
to her husband. “How much we shall have to talk 
over when we get back!” 

“Don’t mention even the name of our home,” was 
Pevensey’s rejoinder. “Oh, Betty, let us be happy, 
even for a time.” 

Her heart gave a bound as her husband uttered 
these words, and then sank low in her breast. 

“What shall we do to-morrow?” she asked, 
struggling to regain her brightness. 


92 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


'T shall be busy in the morning,” he said; ‘‘in 
the afternoon I am at your service.” 

“But what are you going to do in the morning?” 

“I have an engagement, dear. I shall, in all prob- 
ability, be home to lunch.” 

Pevensey looked uneasy. The brightness which 
had made his face so attractive during the evening 
left it. A whisper came to Betty’s heart — a whisper 
of dread, of portent. She had knowingly married 
a man who held a secret. For an instant — only an 
instant — her sweet dark eyes rested on his worn 
features, seemed to read the thoughts in his sad 
eyes, and to guess the words which came so close 
to his lips. 

“The time is near,” thought Betty. “I thought he 
would be able to bear the burden alone, but I see 
now that we must bear it together. The time is 
coming; he must tell me everything. Oh, I shall be 
glad to know !” 

Pevensey had made an appointment with Sir 
Preston Dykes for the following morning at eleven 
o’clock. He left his mother’s house soon after ten, 
and took a long walk by himself in the park. As 
the time approached for him to see the doctor he 
felt strangely nervous. He had made up his mind 
not to bring his globules with him to London, for 
his intention was never once during his visit to yield 


BETTY OE THE EECTOBY 


93 


to the temptation of using them. He had the pre- 
scription in his pocket, however, and the temptation 
suddenly visited him to fortify himself for his medi- 
cal interview by taking a few of the sedatives. 

He passed Squires, the great chemists; paused, 
hesitated, then turned back and entered. He gave 
his prescription to a man at the other side of the 
counter, who immediately began to make up the 
medicine. Pevensey waited, his hand on the coun- 
ter. When the man gave him the little bottle, he 
said : 

“You will forgive my speaking, sir; but that is 
a very strong prescription, and I should advise the 
— the patient never to exceed the dose.'’ 

“Ah !” said Pevensey. 

He took up the bottle, turned it round in his 
hand, and looked at it. 

“There are directions here, are there not, for the 
taking of these globules?” 

“Yes, sir; and three make the extreme dose.” 

“So I observe,” replied Pevensey. “What do I 
owe you?” 

He paid for the little phial and put it into his 
waistcoat pocket. As he was going out, he turned 
again to the man. 

“In case the dose of three globules were exceeded, 
what would happen?” was his remark. 


94 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


The chemist raised his shoulders, gave an express- 
ive gesture, then was silent. Pevensey went out. 
Looking to right and left, he perceived a side street. 
He walked down it a little way, opened the phial, 
and hastily swallowed six globules. He then 
returned the bottle to his pocket. 

Almost immediately afterwards he was conscious 
of a sensation of warmth and comfort round the 
region of his heart. A heavy weight was also lifted 
from his brain, and he was as one who feared noth- 
ing and who trod on air. 

By the time he reached Sir Preston Dykes’ house 
he felt absolutely well — so much so that it seemed 
ridiculous to trouble the doctor. He had made an 
appointment, however, and must keep it. In a very 
short time he was in the consulting-room, and he 
and Preston Dykes were looking at each other face 
to face. 

“You have drugged yourself,” said Dykes in a 
brief tone. 

“Yes,” said Pevensey. 

“What is the nature of the drug?” 

Pevensey took the prescription from his pocket 
and gave it to Sir Preston Dykes. The doctor read 
the contents. 

“How many of these do you take at a time ?” he 
said. 


BETTY OF THE KECTORY 


95 


‘‘Six; that is my invariable dose now. I neither 
exceed it nor diminish it.” 

“How long have you been giving yourself this 
drug?” 

“For six months; at first only at intervals, now 
more frequently.” 

“Who ordered it for you? Ah — I see — Hutchin- 
son. You consulted him?” 

“Yes; he said I had better have the globules by 
me, in case of necessity.” 

“You find, Mr. Pevensey, that the necessity has 
arisen?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did Hutchinson give you permission to increase 
the dose?” 

“On the contrary,” said Pevensey, “he begged of 
me only to have recourse to it in extremis, and not 
to take more than three globules.” 

“Let me examine you,” said Preston Dykes. 

The examination was performed quickly and 
thoroughly. 

“Your heart is quite sound,” said the doctor then, 
“and, as far as it is possible for any man to tell, 
your brain is healthy and without disease. What is 
the matter with you? You are afraid of some- 
thing.” 

“Heredity,” said Pevensey, in a low voice. 


96 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


*'Ah — well,” said the doctor, ^That is a tiresome 
bugbear, but it can often be scotched. Come, I want 
to hear everything about you — your story, from 
beginning to end.” 

Pevensey was now wearing that queer, secretive 
look which is a marked characteristic of those who 
habituate themselves to the drug which he was 
taking. 

‘‘No lies — no keeping back anything,” said the 
doctor. “The absolute truth, and at once.” 

Then Pevensey spoke. It was torture to him to 
lift the curtain and reveal to the doctor what 
haunted him day and night. 

When he had quite finished his story. Sir Preston 
Dykes spoke. 

“This won’t do at all,” he said. “You live under 
the shadow of fear. You have no cause, none what- 
ever. The shadow must be removed.” 

“It cannot,” said Pevensey, clasping his hands. 
“My days are horrible, and my nights without the 
aid of that drug would be unendurable.” 

“The drug must be stopped — instantly.” 

“I cannot do without it,” said Pevensey. 

“Then I can do nothing for you. You will, in all 
probability, approach that condition which you fear. 
In all probability you will enter the state which you 
dread. You are a sound man now — sound, mentally 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


97 


and physically. In six months’ time, if you are not 
insane, you will be very nearly so. The drug is 
undermining you; you must not take it again.” 

''You don’t know what I am without it. I am a 
clergyman, and have a large parish. How am I to 
go about amongst my people, helping to support and 
cheer them, when I am myself suffering the tor- 
tures of hell ? I am married, too. It is the thought 
of my young wife that so completely unmans me.” 

"Does she know that you take these ?” 

"A thousand times no!” 

"Is she aware of the fact that troubles you?” 

"I wished to tell her before my marriage. I 
wished to break off my marriage, but she would not 
break it off, nor would she listen to my story. We 
decided between us that she was never to know the 
secret until the day came that I could bear it no 
longer.” 

"What sort of woman is your wife?” 

"She is young, brave, and bright. She is strong, 
too, mentally and physically. She is a woman in a 
thousand.” 

"How long are you married?” 

"Six months.” 

The doctor, who had been seated, stood up. 

"There are two courses before you,” he said. 
"You can go down the hill — and, let me assure you, 


98 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


your speed will be rapid; you will find yourself 
quickly at the bottom. At the bottom dwells despair ; 
in that pit which you will enter you will listen to 
the cries of other souls damned like your own. You 
are already taking double the right amount of these 
globules. In a month’s time, where you now require 
six to calm your nerves, you will have recourse to 
twelve. Meanwhile, your self-respect and your self- 
control will leave you, and all that you most dread 
will come upon you; your wife, even, may turn to 
hate you.” 

Pevensey shivered violently. The doctor sud- 
denly changed his manner. 

‘‘That is the downward course,” he said. “We 
surely need not dwell on it. You are young; you 
are at present healthy, and you have plenty of moral 
fibre about you. There is no doubt that, owing to 
that heredity which so terrifies you, your brain has 
a tendency towards mental disease, but it depends 
altogether on yourself whether you become the vie-* 
tim of that disease. Give up this drug; go through 
hell for a fortnight — you will go through hell with- 
out the drug — and come out restored and in your 
right mind at the end of your period of suffering. 
Conquer this pernicious habit, and, above all things, 
my good fellow, consult that wife of yours. Make 
her your confidante. When you are overpowered 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


with mental distress go to her, not to this vile 
poison, for consolation/’ 

As the doctor spoke he tore up the prescription 
and flung it and the phial into the fire. 

*‘Be a man,” was the final counsel. ^T can do 
nothing for you, but your wife can do everything. 
Take my advice; come and see me again in six 
weeks’ time.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Instead of meeting his wife as he had arranged, 
Pevensey sent her a telegram, and then took the first 
train into the country. He went to Waterloo, and 
took a train as far as Godaiming; there he got out 
and walked for long hours. He wanted to tire 
himself out physically; then he wanted to face the 
position. 

He was without his drug ; he was without his pre- 
scription. All the mental depression which invari- 
ably followed a strong dose was beginning to visit 
him. He almost cursed his own carelessness in hav- 
ing left the little bottle of globules at the Rectory. 
He felt inclined to go to fetch them. He felt a mad 
desire for them ; he hardly knew how to contain him- 
self. What should he do? How should he spend 
the night? He would not go back to Betty; he 
could not face her. He felt it absolutely impossible 
to take the doctor’s advice. He must have recourse 
to the drug once again. 

Presently, utterly weary, for he had eaten noth- 
ing since early breakfast, he entered a small inn not 
far from the station, ordered some food, and then, 
going to the railway station, sent off a telegram : 

100 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 101 


‘‘Don’t expect me to-night. Quite well, but kept 
on business.” 

He was just about to push the little form through 
the slit for the telegraph boy to take, when a hand, 
light as a feather, was laid on his arm, and turning, 
he saw Betty herself. 

“Good Heavens!” he said, starting back and fix- 
ing his wondering, anxious eyes on her face. “My 
darling, where have you come from?” 

She laughed just a little; then she said gently: 

“I was waiting for you outside the doctor’s.” 

“Betty, I never told you I was going to see any 
doctor; and I hate to be followed.” 

He tried to push Betty’s clinging hand from his 
arm. 

“If you didn’t want me to follow you,” she said 
very gently, “you should r^ot have left the doctor’s 
letter on your dressing-table. I saw it; I told no 
one; I just went out to wait for you. Before I 
could come up to you, you had got into a hansom 
and driven away. There was nothing for me to do 
but to follow you in another hansom. I did; I fol- 
lowed you down here. I thought I would let you 
be alone for a little; but now you want me and I 
am here. Is the telegram which you have just writ- 
ten meant for me?” 

“Yes, Bettina.” 


102 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


She felt by the tone in his voice that he was no 
longer sorry to have her with him. She placed her 
hand with renewed confidence on his arm. 

“Let us go to the hotel,” she said. “It is quite 
nice; I have been there already. The people know 
that I am waiting for my husband. Come back with 
me there, dear.” 

Pevensey followed his wife obediently. After the 
first shock he felt astonishingly cheered and com- 
forted by her presence. She was, after all, next best 
to his globules. 

They entered the little inn. Betty went at once to 
speak to the landlady. 

“My husband and I want the very best bedroom 
you can give us,” she said, “and wish to have a fire 
lighted immediately in the room. Have you a pri- 
vate sitting-room?” 

“No, madam.” 

The woman was attracted by Betty’s sweet face. 
She then looked beyond her at the haggard man 
who was standing more or less in shadow. Sud- 
denly she recognized him. 

“Why, sir, you have already ordered a room and 
— and dinner.” 

“Yes,” he answered. “I did not know I should 
find my wife here.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 103 


He took out his card and gave it to the woman. 
She read the name on it: “The Reverend Geoffrey 
Pevensey.’’ She looked at Betty. 

“Fll do the very best I can for you both, madam. 
There isn't a really private sitting-room, but I think 
I can manage to let you have the coffee-room to 
yourselves ; there are no visitors staying at the hotel 
to-night, and any odd persons who come Fll arrange 
that they shall have dinner in the bar.” 

“You are very kind — very kind indeed,” said 
Betty. Then she added, in a very low tone: ”My 
husband is not quite well, and noise disturbs him.” 

“Oh, yes, madam! I quite understand. Alice, 
take Mrs. Pevensey up to No. 6, and see that a fire 
is lighted immediately. About your luggage, 
ma’am?” 

Betty colored. 

“Neither my husband nor I have brought any,” 
she said. “The fact is” — she dropped her voice — 
“I followed him down here to-day as he was not 
very well. He didn’t know that I had done so. We 
are returning to town to-morrow.” 

“Yes, ma’am; certainly, ma’am. I think I can 
lend you all you require for the night.” 

“Oh, how kind of you! that will be splendid,” 
said Betty. 

She gave one of her joyous, girlish smiles, and 


104 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


the woman felt her heart warming to the pretty 
creature. 

No. 6 was a good-sized bedroom with heavy, com- 
fortable, old-fashioned furniture. It had a huge 
fireplace, and the servant piled on large knobs of 
coal. Dinner was presently served in a corner of 
the coffee-room; a screen was put round to make 
this portion of the room more private and cosy, 
and the landlady herself came in to wait upon the 
guests. 

‘‘Somehow, ma’am,” she said suddenly to Betty, 
“I have a feeling that I’ve seen your face before.” 

Betty looked at her in surprise. 

“I have never been to Godaiming before,” she 
said. “Are you an old inhabitant?” 

“An old inhabitant!” said Mrs. Jenks. “Jenks 
and me — we’ve kept the Red Lion for the last twenty 
years. I have seen your face, though — now, let me 
think.” Then her brow cleared. “To be sure!” she 
said, “and what a good likeness it do be. You never 
give your photograph to anybody, did you, ma’am?” 

“Oh, I am sure I have, to several people.” 

“To a woman, for instance, of the name of Hin- 
ton? — a woman who lived through a great and ter- 
rible trouble.” 

Even the Rector looked up interested. 

“Do you know Mrs. Hinton?” he said. “My 


BETTY OE THE BECTOKY 105 

wife and I have been — oh! so terribly sorry for 
her.” 

“Do I know her?” said Mrs. Jenks, her cheeks 
blazing and her eyes shining. “Am not I own 
cousin to her? and didn’t Jack — the dear boy — spend 
many of his holidays at Godaiming when he were 
a child? Ah — poor thing! poor thing! It’s but a 
week since she left me. She come here on a little 
visit, and could talk of no one but your dear young 
lady, sir, and all that she done for her in the midst 
of her trouble. She showed me your lady’s photo- 
graph, sir, and said she wouldn’t part with it for its 
weight in diamonds. Ah, to be sure, poor thing — 
she is to be pitied.” 

Betty and her husband asked several questions 
with regard to Mrs. Hinton, and the landlady, who 
now could not do enough for them, hurried back- 
wards and forwards into the room, bringing one 
good thing to eat after another. 

“We live plain here,” she said, “but we live well 
— the best meat in the country, and the plumpest 
fowls, and the freshest eggs, and home-cured bacon, 
and — my word! as to preserves — ^you have but to 
name ’em, ma’am, and I’ll get you any sort you 
fancy.” 

“We have had an excellent meal,” said Betty, in 
her sweet voice, “and you have been so very, very 


106 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


kind, Mrs. Jenks, and I cannot tell you how thankful 
I am to hear something of Mrs. Hinton again, for I 
love her most truly. But now, my husband is very 
weary, and I do not think we want anything more.’' 

‘‘You want quiet, not my rattling tongue,” said 
Mrs. Jenks, who spoke, however, in the height of 
good humor. “Well, my dear young lady, and you 
shall have your quiet; not a soul shall enter this 
coffee-room to-night except your two selves. Jane 
shall bring you in coffee when you ring — and my 
coffee ain’t the sort to be scorned — and real cream, 
too, fresh from the cow.” 

The good woman took herself off. Betty lit a 
cigarette and gave it to her husband. She stole up 
close to him and slipped her hand through his arm. 

“Geoff, are you so dead tired that you^ would 
rather go to bed and to sleep, and wait until the 
morning for a real talk, or shall we have it now ?” 

“Go to sleep ?” he answered. “I shall not sleep all 
night.” 

“Then, if necessary,” said Betty, in her sweet, 
clear tone, “we will talk all night.” 

He did not answer. He seemed to shrink away 
from her. She knew this quite well, but was not 
hurt or surprised. 

“Geoff, you remember the compact we made with 
each other on our wedding day?” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 107 


‘‘Yes, yes,” he said. ‘T was mad to make it.” 

“No, darling; but the time has come for us to 
keep our compact. My own Geoffrey, I must know 
exactly what is troubling you — I must know all 
about that thing which is undermining your health 
and destroying your usefulness. I have known for 
a long time — for months past — that something was 
wrong, but I could not guess what it was. Now, I 
will know. Geoffrey, I claim your promise. You 
cannot do without my support and my sympathy. 
Whatever your secret is, we must share it together.” 

He looked full at her with that strained expres- 
sion in his eyes which was so terrible to ^ee. Betty 
longed to put her soft white hand gently across his 
brow and to close those eyes in soft sleep. 

“Oh, poor darling! He cannot — he shall not 
stand it another hour alone !” she thought. 

“Come, Geoff,” she said then, cheerfully; “you 
know I am not at all a weak sort of girl, and as to 
my being troubled with nerves- — I don’t think I have 
got any.” 

“Oh, come, Betty,” he said; “you remember what 
you felt at Mrs. Hinton’s.” 

“I am stronger since then ; I learned a lesson that 
night,” she said in a low tone. 

“It seems to me you are always learning lessons,” 


108 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


he answered. “You are almost perfect; you are ten 
thousand times too good for me.” 

“That is for me to decide,” she replied. “You 
are the one man in all the world I love, or could 
ever have loved, and I would rather be with you, 
my Geoffrey, even though you were to tell me now 
that you were the greatest sinner on God’s earth, or 
that you were mad, or going to be mad, or that any- 
thing — anything on God’s earth was going to happen 
to you, than be the wife of another. But there is 
one thing I cannot stand, and that is, to find myself 
outside your life.” 

“Outside, Betty; what do you mean?” 

“My dear old boy,” she said, and now she laid her 
hand on his knee, “you know perfectly well that 
your Betty is outside your life. Your real life is 
spent in your study” — she gave him a keen glance — 
your real life means a mask over your face and your 
poor sad thoughts turned inwards — ever inwards; 
your real life forgets faith and the love of God, and 
the strength of God, and the mighty guiding hand 
of God. Your real life, Geoffrey, is lived when 
you slip away from me, your Betty, and go and see 
a man like Sir Preston Dykes — alone. Geoff, while 
you were in the great doctor’s house I found out 
that he was a special nerve doctor; in short, that 
many people who suppose themselves to be on the 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 109 


verge of insanity consult him. I had to find out ; I 
had, as it were, to act the spy upon you, my owTi 
Geoff, for I could not stand living outside your life 
any longer. So take me in now, Geoff, take me in 
now.’’ 

She fell on her knees beside him, and opened her 
warm, round, young arms, and folded them round 
his thin neck, and all of a sudden he found a great 
sob rising to his throat, and tears filled his eyes and 
ran down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Betty, Betty!” he said; “you are saying to 
me in your own way what Sir Preston Dykes has 
said already. He urged and urged me to make you 
my confidante.” 

Betty was very, very gentle now that she found 
she had won. She was a creature with infinite tact 
and abundant tenderness, and with little or no 
thought of self in her nature. She sank slowly 
down to the hearthrug, looking as she did so almost 
like a child, but the strong light in those brown 
eyes and the steadfast tenderness of those lips 
belonged to a woman; and the man who looked 
down at her took courage. 

“Well, I will tell you,” he said suddenly. “It 
came upon me as a crash. I only heard it the day 
.before my wedding.” 

^‘And who — zvho told you then?” said Betty. 


110 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


He bent down and whispered a word in her ear. 

*‘Not your — not your mother?” 

“Yes.” 

Betty trembled and clenched her hands. After a 
minute she looked up. 

“Go on,” she said. “I never, never did like Lady 
Pevensey.” 

“Oh, Betty, my darling, she could not help her- 
self.” 

“Why did she tell you then? Did she want you 
not to marry me?” 

“There is no use in judging her, Betty; she told 
tne what is a fact. I blame her for not having given 
me the information before.” 

“Well, tell me what she said, and let us get it 
over,” said Betty. 

She did not know why she felt almost cheerful, 
but the fact was that she had very little belief in 
Lady Pevensey, and was almost sure that whatever 
bad news she had to confide to her son she would 
exaggerate it to suit her own purpose. 

“My mother was always queer to me,” began the 
Rector; “very affectionate at times, proud of me at 
times, but at other times neglectful, even resentful. 
I think Laura was her favorite, although Laura 
never treated her with the respect which I showed 
her.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


111 


‘Xaura is very good for all that,” said Betty, 
stoutly. ‘T like her; she is so honest.” 

‘^Yes, isn’t she?” said Pevensey; ‘‘quite a splen- 
did girl all round.” 

“Different from anyone else I have ever met,” 
said Betty. 

“Yes, Laura has always been what one might call 
peculiar from her very earliest days,” said the Rec- 
tor. She was born with an intensely strong will of 
her own, and as her father died when she was a 
very little child, she has ruled my mother from the 
first.” 

“Don’t think of her now,” said Betty, a little 
impatiently. “Tell me what your mother said.” 

“She told me my family history.” 

“Oh, I know the sort of things,” said Betty, with 
impatience. “You’re consumptive, or — or some- 
thing of that sort.” 

“Worse than that, Betty.” 

“Worse ?” said the girl. 

“Yes, very much worse. The taint does not come 
from my father’s side of the family. The Peven- 
seys are, all healthy, but my poor mother confessed 
to me with bitter tears that she was the one to blame 
— that she married my father without telling him 
her secret.” 


112 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


‘What secret, Geoff?” asked his wife. ‘T fail to 
understand.” 

“It is a very curious and strange state of things, 
and having married my father I blame my mother 
for letting me know at all. She excused herself by 
saying that she had suffered so fearfully by never 
having told my father that she could not allow me to 
marry without giving me full particulars with regard 
to her family history.” 

“Well, well,” said Betty, “I don’t suppose it is 
half as bad as she made it out.” 

“You are wrong, Betty,” said the man. “It is 
as bad as it can be. Now I will tell it to you.” 

He shivered. Had not Betty known that this con- 
fidence would be his very best chance of relief she 
would not have allowed him to continue. His face 
turned ghastly ; he tried once or twice to speak, but 
words failed him. 

“Come, Geoff, try,” said Betty, in her cheerful 
tone. “Nothing that you can say will frighten me. 
What is it, dear?” 

“It is a strange and terrible thing, Betty. I told. 
Sir Preston Dykes the whole story to-day. He, of 
course, tried to cheer me. I had already gone to 
consult Henderson — another very great nerve spe- 
cialist. I went to Henderson immediately after my 
mother had related to me that ghastly history. Oh, 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


113 


shall I ever forget that day! You know what I was 
before I knew of this secret, Betty. My nature was 
naturally bright, happy and cheerful. I felt a great 
enthusiasm with regard to my work. I believe — I 
humbly believe — that I had faith in God. I hoped 
to do right ; I hoped to be the means of helping suf- 
fering men and women, and cheering them with the 
knowledge of the Love Divine. I felt that it was 
surrounding me. I cannot tell you how uplifted I 
was. Then came the crash, the reaction. I came 
out of my mother’s drawing-room staggering like a 
man who has got a death-blow. T saw Henderson. 
He did what he could for me, but looked grave. He 
did not forbid my marrying, but he said that I ought 
to tell you. I came to you. Don’t you remember 
the day ? don’t you remember how I looked and how 
I spoke?” 

'‘Yes, I remember,” said Betty. “You wanted to 
break off our marriage. That — that, indeed, would 
have been terrible.” 

“But, Betty, darling, you at least would have 
escaped. Oh, when I think of what I dragged you 
into!” 

“You have dragged me into nothing that I can- 
not bear,” replied Betty. “Now, go on, Geoff. Tell 
your own wife the very truth — the very heart of the 
truth; keep nothing back from her.” 


114 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


‘‘Betty, dearest, when first I married you I was 
possessed of a kind of hope that I could get the bet- 
ter of my heredity, that the awful doom of my 
ancestors would not fall upon me. I thought that I 
could fight the demon. Fear. But, Betty, day by day 
it gets a stronger and stronger mastery of me, and 
fear is the first symptom of the ghastly fate that 
awaits me.” 

In spite of her courage the girl could not help 
trembling slightly. After a minute she said : 

“Fear, as a rule, ceases to exist when two share 
the secret.” 

“Even your love, Betty, and your knowledge can- 
not undo the horror which grips me day by day. 
Well, to put it in plain words, this is what is wrong : 
For generations — five or six generations, I believe 
— the male members of my mother’s family have 
been, more or less, subject to a certain form of 
insanity : not the usual form of the disease — no sui- 
cidal mania, or homicidal mania, or anything of that 
sort. The form that this special insanity takes is as 
follows : 

“At a certain period of full adolescence — gen- 
erally about thirty years of age — a slow collapse of 
the mental powers sets in. This collapse is not 
caused by what is usually called softening of the 
brain, but to a certain extent it resembles that most 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


115 


dire disease. Doctors have tried all in their power 
to help the miserable victims. After death, post- 
mortems have taken place, and the brains of the vic- 
tims have been examined, but not the slightest trace 
of disease, of degeneration of any kind, has been 
found to account for the terrible symptoms. No 
doctor can really understand the complaint. The 
victim dies, as a rule, young — generally under forty 
years of age, and invariably for the last few years 
of his life he becomes — oh, Betty! not a man at all, 
but a mere animal, with little or no brain, no mind, 
no affection, no hope. He feels nothing, he suffers 
nothing; he eats, he sleeps, he likes to bask in the 
sun, or to huddle near a fire. As his end approaches 
he is unable even to rise from his bed. He is noth- 
ing but a mere living, breathing mass of flesh; in 
short, the soul of the man is dead. 

‘Tt is that fate that lies before your husband, and 
the first symptom has already appeared — an over- 
mastering, terrible, appalling fear. Each of the vic- 
tims begins his downward course with that grim 
fear to keep him company, and the stronger the fear 
the swifter is the march down hill. Betty, I am in 
the grip of that fear. Now you know all. You are 
inside my miserable life for what it is worth.” 

Betty did not speak for a minute. Then she rose 
to her knees ; then she swept her strong young arms 


116 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


round her husband’s neck, and then suddenly she 
burst into weeping. Her tears had an extraordinary 
effect on Pevensey. He forgot himself in his anxiety 
for her. He grew quite calm as she became agitated. 
He patted her gently, and held her close to him. He 
kissed her many times ; he assured her of his love. 

When at last she was still once more, she raised 
her head and said : 

‘‘There is no denying that it is terrible, but I am 
glad I know ; I am glad to be inside your life.” 

Before the husband and wife went to their room, 
Pevensey confessed to Betty that he was accelerating 
his own downfall by the use of certain globules. 

“I have promised Preston Dykes to give them 
up,” he said. “He has, in fact, forbidden me to 
touch them again, assuring me that I shall not escape 
what I dread if I continue to take them. I have 
promised to abstain from what has been my only 
comfort. Oh, Betty, you will have a dreadful time 
while I am struggling to do without the one thing 
that calms me. Are you strong enough to go 
through it ?” 

“Strong enough?” she answered. “Yes, and fifty 
times as much. You do without the comfort of 
your globules, Geoffrey, but then you have got the 
comfort of my presence. I am always there, always 
close to you, darling — sympathizing, understanding. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


iir 


and — believing. Yes,” she added, raising her eyes 
steadfastly, ^‘believing, with all my heart and soul 
and strength, that you will never be the victim of 
that dire disease.” 

He gave her a vague smile. He was tired out. 
She hurried him to bed. She lay down beside him. 
She laid her hand on his shoulder. Hers was a 
touch of the utmost soothing. 

After a time the man slept, but the woman lay 
awake — thinking — thinking hard. 


CHAPTER X 


When Betty and her husband reached Lady 
Pevensey’s house after that remarkable and never- 
to-be-forgotten evening at the little country inn, they 
were met by Laura. Laura had been out riding and 
came towards them in her habit. 

‘‘What have you two been doing?” she said. 

She looked into their faces: her eyes were full of 
penetration. She was a remarkably clever girl, with 
not a grain of sentiment in her composition. But 
she was kind-hearted; she had taken a fancy to 
Betty; she loved Geoffrey dearly. She wished, if 
possible, at the present moment to shield them from 
Lady Pevensey’s inquiries. 

“You look fagged out. Bet,” she said; “and as to 
you, Geoffrey — good gracious ! I am only thankful 
I am not a clergyman — or a clergyman’s wife. 
Why, even when you come to town for a week’s 
recreation you seem to be carrying the troubles and 
sins of all your parishioners on your shoulders. 
Now, for goodness’ sake, don’t be a scapegoat ; look 
the handsome, light-hearted fellow you used to be 
at one time.” 


118 


BETTY OE THE BECTOEY 


119 


‘T will do my best, Laura,” said her brother. 

He went up to his room, but Betty stayed behind. 

“Laura,” she said, “you must help me. I want to 
talk to you quite, quite alone. You must help me 
with all your might and main.” 

“What is it?” said Laura, changing her voice at 
once to one of real sympathy. Then she added : “I 
do think, Betty, that you’re a right good sort.” 

“Geoffrey wants help and encouragement,” said 
Betty; “the very best that we can give him; and I 
must talk to you, but not now. You are clever — you 
know you are: you can keep — it seems a dreadful 
thing to say — Lady Pevensey at bay.” 

“Oh, I’ll manage the mother, if that’s what you 
mean,” said Laura, “and you and I will have a 
straight talk to-morrow, for I mean to take you for 
a drive all by myself. You shall come in my motor 
with me : we’ll go right away into the country and 
have a jolly time.” 

Betty smiled. “Thank you,” she said. Soon 
afterwards she joined her husband in their bedroom. 
Meanwhile, Lady Pevensey, who considered her 
neurasthenia worse than usual that afternoon, 
turned with an annoyed look to Laura. 

“Well,” she said, “have the runaways returned?” 

“The runaways, mother! What a way to speak 
of dear Betty and Geoffrey!’^ 


120 


BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


Lady Pevensey tossed her head. 

‘Tt’s all very fine for you, Laura,” she said, ‘‘but 
I have some old-fashioned ideas. You’re nothing 
more nor less than a woman suffragist. I believe if 
you had it in your power, and I permitted you, you’d 
go howling to the House of Commons and cling 
round a policeman’s neck and beg of him to arrest 
you as soon as not.” 

“Yes, mother,” said Laura, calmly; “I’m very 
keen about the suffrage, and I shouldn’t greatly 
mind spending a fortnight in Holloway Gaol.” 

“Good God!” said Lady Pevensey. “What an 
awful daughter I have got in you! For which of 
my sins am I so punished? You can’t mean what 
you are saying.” 

“To a certain extent I do,” said Laura, looking 
attentively at her mother. “I think sensible women 
ought to have votes; but then, the rub is this — all 
women are not sensible.” 

“I suppose you allude to me by that sweet and 
kindly remark,” said Lady Pevensey, very crossly. 

“I do not say to whom I allude,” remarked Laura. 
“But listen, mother ; I have something to say. Geof- 
frey is not well.” 

“Of course he’s not well,” replied Lady Peven- 
sey. “Is it likely he would be ? I warned him before 
his marriage, but he wouldn’t take my advice. He 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 121 


was infatuated about that silly country girl. Now 
he finds what it is to be tied to a wife, and to have 
a burden as well — greater than he can bear.” 

'‘His wife will save him, if anyone can,” replied 
Laura. “But, please attend to me. I am not going 
to have her annoyed, and I want my dear old Geoff 
to have a cheerful and fairly happy time while he 
is here.” 

“Am I preventing it, Laura ? Have I not arranged 
to have dinners and visits to the theatre, and one 
amusement after another for the dear children dur- 
ing their stay? — I, who am worn out with this ter- 
rible neurasthenia, and whom Dr. Goodenough has 
simply ordered to stay quiet and not worry myself 
about any single thing? But no one thinks of me 
and my sufferings.” 

“Oh, yes, dear old mums!” said the daughter; 
“we all think of you — and perhaps we’d think more 
if you didn’t worrit so about yourself.” 

''Worrit! Laura, what a horribly vulgar word! 
Surely, even though you are impertinent to your 
mother, you may at least speak the King’s English.” 

“I am a very determined subject of the King, 
whether I speak his English or not,” said Laura. 
“Ah! that’s right! here comes tea. When the chil- 
dren, as you call them, come down, don’t torment 
them with a number of idle questions. We’re to 


122 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


have some nice people to dine to-night, and it will do 
Geoffrey real good to talk with them.” 

‘‘Nothing will do him good,” said Lady Peven- 
sey, in her slow and drawling voice. “But have 
your way, Laura : you master me.” 

“I mean to,” said that young lady. 

“I suppose you don’t mean to sit down to pour out 
tea in your riding habit?” 

“Oh, bother my habit!” said Laura. “I don’t 
intend to change it.” 

A minute or two later Geoffrey and Betty entered 
the room. Betty, although tired, looked sweet and 
fresh. She had changed her dress for one of her 
very prettiest trousseau robes. Even Lady Peven- 
sey could not help glancing at her with approval. 

“I am sorry we were out last night,” began Betty 
to her mother-in-law. 

“Say nothing about it, my dear,” was Lady 
Pevensey’s reply. “Young people will be young 
people. When you come to my age you will under- 
stand how sweet is thought and consideration for 
others. My head is racked with neuralgia. I saw 
Dr. Goodenough this afternoon, and he prohibited 
all worries. Laura speaks of them as ‘worrits.’ 
She really can be very annoying when she likes. 
Geoffrey, my son, come and sit by my side and hold 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 123 


my hand. I have before now found the touch of a 
strong man’s hand very soothing.” 

Geoffrey immediately went up to his mother and 
sat by her. He took her slim hand in one of his, 
and with the other gently stroked her fingers. 

‘'Ve-ry soothing — ve-e-ry soothing indeed T said 
Lady Pevensey. ‘T have always found that you, 
Geoffrey, have the gift of magnetism. Even when 
you were a little child I used to remark on it.” 

Betty, meanwhile, was helping Laura with tea. 
She brought a cup, daintily prepared, to her mother- 
in-law. Lady Pevensey gave a slight shudder. 

“Tea! with my nerves!” she said. “Laura, you 
have forgotten my hot water ; that is the only thing 
a person of my extreme delicacy can venture to 
take.” 

“I am certain you want nourishment,” said Betty, 
stoutly. 

“Do you really, Betty, set yourself up as a better 
judge than Dr. Goodenough?” asked Lady Peven- 
sey, in a peevish voice. 

“Oh, no,” replied Betty, contrite at once. 

She looked at her husband. Their eyes met — hers 
full of courage; his with a dim, beseeching look in 
them. But the courage in hers inspired him. He 
devoted himself to his mother, provided her with 


124 BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 


her favorite meal of spongecake and hot water, 
while he himself ate with considerable appetite. 

“You are looking better, Geoffrey,” said his 
mother. “I am glad of it — very glad. We are 
going to have some delightful people here this even- 
ing. Mr. Power, whose remarkable thoughts on the 
New Socialism have created such astonishment ; also 
Mr. McDermot, a leading surgeon — I do hope he 
will describe some of his operations; I have a mor- 
bid delight in listening to descriptions of the hor- 
rors of the operating-table ; also that dear fussy little 
Miss Spring — she plays so admirably on the violin, 
it will be a treat to hear her. The Dancocks have 
also promised to come ; Mr. Dancock has such a fine 
intellectual head; don’t you think so, Laura?” 

“A fine intellectual noodle, I should call him,” 
replied Laura. 

Lady Pevensey looked pathetically at her hand- 
some son. 

“Laura and I never agree on any one single 
point,” she said. “It’s pleasant for me, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, mother,” said Geoffrey, “Laura means no 
harm.” 

“But the fact that she means no harm doesn’t 
make it more agreeable for me,” said Lady Peven- 
sey. “To be frank — I am fully convinced that 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 125 


Laura is the real cause of my neurasthenia. If you 
hadn’t married, now, but ” 

She looked at Betty. The color flew from Betty’s 
cheeks. She was about to make a hasty retort, but 
the expression of pain on her husband’s face kept 
her silent. 

The dinner that followed turned out to be a great 
success. Mr. Dancock, with his massive head and 
portly appearance, was by no means such a noodle as 
Laura described him. He was a vain man who con- 
sidered that he knew more than anybody else on any 
subject. He really was well informed, but, notwith- 
standing his vast bulk of person and large store of 
knowledge, was of a somewhat timorous nature and 
could easily be set down. He expanded in Lady 
Pevensey’s presence, who encouraged his vanity, but 
when with Laura he looked subdued and even limp. 

Mrs. Dancock was pale and aesthetic, and lived 
entirely for Mr. Dancock. She seldom spoke a 
word, but hung on his utterances with an expression 
of face which seemed to say: “Did you ever before 
listen to such wisdom?” 

She came to dinner in a sage green dress that was 
very long, clinging, and out of date. Her hair was 
plastered smoothly down round her long, thin, white 
face. She had pale, protruding eyes and a somewhat 
large mouth. Her eyes were always indicative of 


126 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


wonder — the wonder inspired by Dancock. She 
wanted the rest of the world to share her astonish- 
ment at the greatness of this remarkable man, and 
as she was under the impression that they did, she 
was on the whole fairly contented. Whenever he 
spoke, she looked round at the company to see if 
they were listening, and any person she found 
attending to his pompous utterances she adored for 
the time being. 

Miss Spring was a lady of what people are pleased 
to call uncertain age. She aimed at thirty-five, and 
aimed fairly successfully. What her real age was 
she and Somerset House alone knew. She was fond 
of calling herself an orphan, but was not at all 
depressed at the circumstance — on the contrary, she 
had a very bright, eager manner. She was under 
the illusion that almost every man she met was in 
love with her, but that she had never yet found her 
other half. She confided to Laura when they were 
alone that she never wished to find him, that she 
infinitely preferred single bliss. 

“All men are tyrants,” she said to Laura. “I 
don’t wish to be tyrannized over. If my other half 
does come along I shall be forced, by the mere mag- 
netism which attracts one human being to its affinity, 
to take him, so I really trust he will not appear. Ah, 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 127 


those poor fellows who have adored me — all in vain ! 
I am sorry for them, but it can’t be helped.” 

Miss Spring dressed very smartly, and in the 
extreme of fashion. Her dress was decidedly 
decollete, and as she had a very thin neck this was 
scarcely becoming to her. Her face was powdered, 
and also slightly rouged. She wore her hair very 
low on her forehead. Her eyes, which were of a 
reddish brown, were quick and pentrating in charac- 
ter. She had a thin mouth and a long upper lip. 
She was a rather small woman, and of slight build. 
She believed herself to be very graceful, and was 
fond of looking behind at her train as she entered 
the room. 

Miss Spring had, however, one gift which for the 
time being, at least, raised her above the common- 
place. She could play the violin so beautifully and 
with such true tenderness that silence fell upon the 
room when she was so employed. Her secret ter- 
ror, as she confided to Laura, was that her other 
half would discover her, on one of these occasions, 
come forward, and claim her. 

“There will be no hope when he does appear,” 
she said. “I live in continual dread, I assure you, 
Laura; I only trust to Providence that he will not 
find me out.” 

Mr. Power was a man of real and great ability. 


128 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


He had a steadfast and very earnest type of face, a 
great domed head, hair slightly grey, a decided stoop 
between the shoulders, and a look in his eyes as 
though his thoughts were far away. It was difficult 
to get Mr. Power to honor any dinner-party, and 
Lady Pevensey was proud of having secured him. 
She was a little afraid of him in her heart of hearts, 
and much preferred Mr. Dancock, who flattered her 
up to her full bent just as much as she flattered him. 

Mr. Power was an unmarried man of about forty 
years of age. He was noted, as a rule, for his 
silence. When people spoke to him on the subject, 
his answer was : “I refuse to talk nonsense, and as 
it is impossible always to talk sense, I am perforce 
obliged to be silent.” Mr. Power was in no sense of 
the word a ‘lady’s man” — in fact, he disliked 
women. Miss Spring felt nervous in his company. 
She thought it quite likely that he might be her other 
half, and on the present occasion, running up to 
Laura she said in an emphatic whisper : 

“Don’t send me in to dinner with Mr. Power. His 
eyes have such an extraordinary habit of looking 
round as though he was seeing nothing, and then 
suddenly opening wide and catching you, so that 
you can’t get out of his vision for a minute. If he 
does that to me during dinner I shall get palpitation, 
and there’ll be no violin-playing afterwards.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 129 


Laura had to inform Miss Spring that the 
arrangements of the dinner-table made it necessary 
for that lady to endure Mr. Power’s society. Miss 
Spring pretended to look displeased, but in reality 
she was elated and even a little excited. She mur- 
mured softly : 

‘Tf he catches me with those eyes of his I shall 
not be able to do anything on the violin afterwards.” 

But Laura had others to attend to, and stood now 
talking to a thin, tall man, who might be called in 
every sense of the word commonplace. He was an 
old friend of Lady Pevensey’s, and his name was 
Mr. Stale. 

Stale was rich, well-born, and, in Lady Pevensey’s 
opinion, would make an excellent husband for 
Laura. There was no doubt that he admired her 
very much, and there was equally no doubt that 
nothing would induce her to look favorably on his 
suit if he ever thought of proposing to her. 

The party were kept waiting for the arrival of a 
Mr. McDermot, the celebrated surgeon. He ap- 
peared on the scene five minutes late. During the 
interval of waiting Mrs. Dancock was seen to cast 
most sympathetic glances at her lord and master. 
A mixture of pity, love and despair filled her promi- 
nent light-blue eyes. She knew that he was aching 
for his dinner ; she knew also that the delay would 


130 BETTY OE THE EECTOKY 


cause him to eat too fast afterwards and produce a 
fit of indigestion. She was already planning in her 
mind what remedies she could employ for his relief 
on their return home, and, in consequence, was very 
vague in her remarks to Pevensey, who was stand- 
ing near her, preparatory to taking her in to dinner. 

'‘Have you any peppermint in the house?” she 
asked him suddenly. 

He started, and looked at her in some amazement, 
but before he could reply the door was thrown open 
and McDermot was announced. 

He was a little man, very lean, exceedingly "all 
there,” quick, resolute, determined. He looked the 
sort of person who never wasted a moment. Mrs. 
Dancock instantly took a violent dislike to him, for 
she was persuaded that he would eat his dinner too 
fast, and thereby still further hurry on the meal to 
Mr. Dancock’s discomfort. For the great man had 
a set of teeth which did not quite fit, and was obliged 
in consequence either to bolt his food or be very 
slow over his mastication. 

"I am very sorry I am late. Lady Pevensey,” said 
McDermot. "I was unavoidably kept at the 
last moment. How do you do. Miss Pevensey ? Ah ! 
Pevensey ! It is long since we met : I am very glad 
to see you.” 

His quick eyes wandered from Pevensey to 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


131 


Pevensey’s wife. She was wearing her wedding 
dress. Her cheeks were full of exquisite color, and 
her lovely eyes expressed that womanliness which 
goes straight to the hearts of all true men. McDer- 
mot was a true man in the best sense of the word, 
and he took a strong fancy to Betty on the spot. He 
was glad when he found himself chosen to take her 
in to dinner, and when there he found much to talk 
to her about. 

Mr. Power was at Betty’s other side, and Miss 
Spring sat between Power and Pevensey. McDer- 
mot knew Miss Spring, and in his heart of hearts 
disliked her. She, on the contrary, admired him 
immensely, and endeavored as well as she could to 
draw him into conversation, but she could only do 
this by speaking across Betty, and after a time gave 
up the attempt in despair. The subjects which inter- 
ested Mrs. Pevensey and Mr. McDermot were as 
unexplored countries in Miss Spring’s mind. What 
did she know of the country at its best, or of the 
joys of work, or of the condition of the poor and 
the best means of helping them ? 

McDermot was a philanthropist, and he was 
deeply interested in Betty’s account of Dartminster 
and of Hillside Rectory. After a pause in the con- 
versation, he said: 

‘‘Your life is a very absorbing one, but may I 


132 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


just, from a medical point of view, give you a warn- 
ing?” 

''And what is that?” she asked. 

"Do not dwell too much on sad things, both for 
your own sake and your husband’s.” 

Betty glanced down the table where Pevensey was 
sitting. Her heart beat fast : the color grew 
brighter in her cheeks. Had McDermot noticed 
anything special about Geoffrey ? 

"Take my warning,” he continued — he had not 
failed to notice her quick glance; "nerve strain is 
the thing to be avoided in your life and in mine.” 

Betty suddenly felt glad and uplifted that this 
good and humane man should put their two lives in 
the same category. After a pause, she said : 

"You have said something very nice.” 

"How?” he inquired. 

"You spoke of your big life and my little one as 
though they were in the same class.” 

"So they are,” he answered. "We are both 
deeply interested in those whom trouble visits, and, 
I doubt not, our best happiness is to be found in 
relieving them. Is not that the case?” 

"That is the only happiness worth living for,” 
said Betty, with fervor. 

She had raised her voice a little, and her last 
words came just when there was a sudden pause in 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 133 


the busy and animated conversation which flowed 
round the dinner-table. Miss Spring, who found 
Geoflfrey dull, and Power more silent than usual, 
gave a little snort. She bent forward, and inter- 
rupted the conversation by saying sharply : 

“I should like to ask you an exceedingly delicate 
question, Mr. McDermot.” 

“Indeed!” he replied, turning and looking at her 
out of his short-sighted eyes. 

He knew all about her — her real age, her little 
vanities; her good-nature, too, for she had many 
excellent points. 

“Do you,” said Miss Spring, “believe in affini- 
ties ?” 

“If you mean,” said McDermot, after a long 
pause, “to ask me if I believe in certain natures pos- 
sessing a corresponding chord to other natures, I 
should not be human if I did not do so.” 

“H — ml” said Mr. Power. His silence was 
broken up: he turned round and glanced full at 
Miss Spring. 

“What is this ?” he asked. 

Mr. Dancock had been pouring forth a stream 
of eloquence on Church ritual to Lady Pevensey. 
His wife, who had been taken in to dinner by 
Pevensey, managed to see his face from time to time 
by poking herself well forward. Mr. Power’s start 


134 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


and loud exclamation were so arresting, however, 
that the whole table stopped talking in order to 
listen. 

‘T was really saying nothing remarkable,” said 
McDermot. “Miss Spring asked me a question, and 
I replied to it in common-sense fashion. Sympathy 
and antipathy are the great laws of life. We have 
the power of attracting some natures and repelling 
others.” 

“Quite right,” said Power; “quite right; “and 
those towards whom we feel antipathy ought if pos- 
sible to be removed from our neighborhood.” 

Here he glanced full at Miss Spring. 

“On the other hand,” he said politely ; he stopped, 
and all of a sudden fixed his thoughtful eyes on her 
face. She turned crimson. She dreaded Mr. 
Power, as she had said to Laura, inexpressibly ; and 
yet — that man made her thrill. He was the only 
person in all the world who had ever made her thrill, 
and she pretended to herself that she had a latent 
and ever-growing terror lest he might be her other 
half. His abstracted eyes were now on her face: 
his knife and fork were laid down, his dinner for- 
gotten. The poor woman grew redder and redder. 

“He is finding out: I shall certainly faint if he 
stares at me much longer,” was her thought. 

McDermot turned to talk to Betty. Mr. Dan- 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 135 


cock resumed his flow of eloquence. Mrs. Dancock 
said abstractedly that she thought veal cutlets were 
quite wholesome. Mr. Power suddenly exclaimed: 

“Forgive me, Miss Spring — what is that you are 
wearing on your head?” 

There was no doubt that Power had a large and 
penetrating voice. His strange remark caused 
everyone again to turn and look at poor Miss Spring. 
Power, now bending slightly forward, delicately 
removed a most graceful osprey from the lady's 
hair. He looked excited. His eyes were full of 
animation. 

“May I ?” he said. “Will you permit me, for the 
sadness and, I trust, the profit of all those here 
assembled, to tell the true story of this ornament?” 

“Oh, don’t — don’t, Mr. Power! I beg of you, 
don’t say any more I” cried poor Miss Spring. 

“Don’t ! my dear madam ? Believe me, I am not 
blaming you, not for a moment : I am only too well 
aware that you are one of the ignoramuses of the 
earth. You put this delicate part of an unfortunate 
little bird into your hair in ignorance: but the 
opportunity is not to be lost. Although ignorant of 
your cruelty, you are, I am certain, a brave woman. 
You have it in your power to forbid me to speak. 
If you forbid me, I will not speak; but I long to 
seize the opportunity/’ 


136 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


is my other half !” thought poor Miss Spring 
to herself. ‘Tt is impossible to resist him. These 
thrills are fearful — there is no doubt on the subject.” 

“Say what you wish to say,” she murmured in a 
shaking voice. 

Whereupon, for five minutes the dinner-party 
were horrified by Power’s description of the man- 
ner in which the osprey’s plume was secured. 
McDermot was called upon as a witness to the 
truth of Power’s utterances. The surgeon said : 

“It is an abominable practice; and women who 
wear such ornaments ought not to be permitted in 
Society.” Then he started, perceived his mistake, 
and apologized very humbly to Miss Spring. 

That poor lady, what with the terror of discov- 
ering that her other half was so close to her, and of 
having her treasured ornament discussed at the din- 
ner-table, was very nearly in tears. 

Power, having delivered his soul, returned the 
osprey to its owner. In a transport of rage, she 
flung it on the floor and said fervently : 

“I thank you, sir. My eyes are opened: never 
shall I be seen with an osprey on a hat or in my hair 
again.” 

“Bravo!” said Mr. Power. “I have made one 
convert. I will send you papers to-morrow, madam, 
which I shall be glad if you will sign. There are 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 137 


many, many cruelties which I long to put down, and 
this is amongst them.” 

‘T will gladly sign anything you send to me,” said 
Miss Spring. 

‘‘Then you must give me your address after din- 
ner.” 

“I will do so,” said Miss Spring. 

She whispered to herself : “He will call — and if 
he calls, I am certain he will propose! It will be a 
frightful wrench to have to give up one’s liberty, but 
when your other half appears you are, in a sense, 
both lost and found.” 


CHAPTER XI 


Miss Spring looked very conscious when the 
ladies returned to the drawing-room. She did not 
want to talk ; her heart was still beating faster than 
its wont. She took up the invariable book of photo- 
graphs which is to be found in every drawing-room 
in the land, and pretended to absorb herself in 
examining them. After a minute, Laura came 
towards her. 

‘‘I am really sorry for you. Miss Spring,” she 
said. “I could not imagine that Mr. Power would 
act in such a peculiar manner.” 

“Oh, don’t speak of it!” said Miss Spring. She 
kept her eyes lowered. “I am glad — I am thankful. 
He has done us all a service. What a wonderful 
man he is!” 

“Oh, yes; he is very clever,” said Laura, gazing 
at the agitated woman in some amazement. She 
was about to turn away, when Miss Spring called 
her back. 

“Even though Mr. Power did take me in to din- 
ner, and — and so much occurred during the meal, I 
138 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


139 


should scarcely like to refuse to give you a little 
music, dear Miss Pevensey, but it must be some- 
thing very soft and gentle — Mendelssohn’s * Spring,’ 
or something delicate of that sort.” 

“That is all right,” said Laura, who did not know 
one note of music from another; “but you needn’t 
play until the men come in.” 

“Do come here, please, for one minute,” said Mrs. 
Dancock to Miss Pevensey as she was passing. “Sit 
down near me. I want to ask you a question. Did 
you notice my dear husband at dinner?” 

“Of course I did,” said Laura; “I was sitting next 
him.” 

“Did you ever hear him quite so magnificent?” 

“He had a great deal to say, certainly,” remarked 
Laura. 

Mrs. Dancock sighed. 

“He will be terribly exhausted afterwards,” she 
said. “He gets so wound up, and then comes the 
reaction. I assure you, after such a display of great 
thoughts as he has given utterance to to-night, he 
may be silent for the best part of a day.” 

“How interesting!” said Laura. “You can rest, 
too, at such times, can’t you?” 

‘‘I — rest?” said Mrs. Dancock. “My rest is to 
listen to him.” 

‘'Oh/' said Laura. "He was a very wise man 


140 BETTY OE THE EECTOEY 


when he married you. You certainly were his 
affinity.” 

■ Mrs. Dancock clasped her hands. 

“Yes — ah, yes!” she said, and her eyes filled with 
tears. “On the whole,” she said, after a pause, “I 
was gratified with the menu: calves’ head is very 
digestible, and I don’t think he ate very quickly.” 

“I will come back in a few minutes,” said Laura, 
who knew that she would give way to mirth if she 
stayed for another minute in the good lady’s society. 

When the gentlemen appeared, McDermot came 
straight to Betty’s side. Miss Spring was induced 
to play gently on the violin while Mrs. Dancock 
most mournfully accompanied her. Mrs. Dancock 
was an absolutely correct musician, without a vestige 
of soul. She never played a wrong note, and her 
time was admirable, but somehow she did not help 
to interpret Miss Spring’s lovely playing of the vio- 
lin as that good lady’s playing demanded. Was 
there not love hovering in the air? 

The music came somewhat abruptly to an end. 
Miss Spring confessed to a sense of fatigue, and 
sidled gracefully to where Mr. Power was seated. 

“I really don’t know how to thank you,” she said. 

He had forgotten all about her, but with an effort 
recalled her to his mind. 

“Yes!” he said; “what for?” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


141 


‘‘The osprey,” she murmured. 

“Ah, I am glad you are not wearing it,” was his 
remark. 

“You won’t forget to send me the papers,” she 
said. 

“Madam, what papers?” 

“You said you wished me to put my signature on 
paper in protest against the barbarity of depriving 
the osprey of its plume.” 

“Ah ! quite so, quite so,” he said. “I will get my 
secretary to send them to you to-morrow.” 

“Your what?” said Miss Spring. 

“My secretary — a very nice girl who comes to 
me every morning and works at my dictation all day. 
Her name is Mary Hughes.” 

“May I give you my address ?” said Miss Spring. 
“I was thinking that perhaps I — I might — call.” 

“Oh, as you please,” said Power. “That would 
save Miss Hughes the trouble of putting the papers 
into an envelope.” 

“I know your address,” said the lady, pathetically. 
“You are ” 

“I beg your pardon! Yes, Pevensey, I will come 
and speak to you in a minute.” 

Power moved across the room. Miss Spring sat 
down and trembled. Was he — after all — her other 


142 BETTY OF THE KECTORY 


half? She felt an unreasonable sense of jealousy 
towards that innocent individual, Mary Hughes. 

Meanwhile McDermot had taken the opportunity 
to talk to Betty. 

‘We surgeons,” he said, “often do strange and 
what may be termed out-of-the-way things. Now I 
am going to throw myself on your compassion. I 
never met you until to-night, but I have known your 
husband for some time, also his mother and Miss 
Pevensey. Your husband is very much changed. 
Has he — forgive me for asking the question — seen 
a doctor?” 

“Yes,” said Betty. She dropped her voice to a 
low tone. “He went only this morning to see Sir 
Preston Dykes.” 

McDermot received this information without any 
comment whatsoever. After a moment he said : 

“I am known in my world as a surgeon; but I 
have studied medicine; I have, as far as possible, 
worked all round the great subject of the ills that 
come to our human lot. Do you think, Mrs. Peven- 
sey, that you and your husband would ask me to 
stay with you at your rectory for a day or two, just 
as your guest? Should you object? Should you 
find me in the way?” 

“Oh, it would be delightful !” said Betty, her eyes 
growing bright and the color flaming in her cheeks. 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 143 


‘'May I regard it as settled then?” said McDer- 
mot. 

“Yes, oh, yes! When will you come?” 

McDermot took a little book out of his pocket 
and looked at his engagements. 

“I have two days free immediately after Christ- 
mas,” he said. “I always like to have a holiday 
then. I have a dear old mother with whom I have 
spent Christmas Day ever since I was born: she 
comes first. Then I could go to Dartminster — say, 
on the Tuesday after Christmas, and remain with 
you for two days.” 

“I shall be more than delighted,” said Betty. 
“And here is my husband. Let me tell him ; I know 
he will be pleased.” 

She started to her feet, and going up to Peven- 
sey laid her hand on his arm. 

“Come here, Geoffrey,” she said. 

He approached McDermot’s side, a smile on his 
face. 

“Please, Mr. McDermot, give my husband the 
delightful information you have just given me.” 

“The fact is this, Pevensey,” said McDermot, “I 
have acted in an exceedingly frank and apparently 
outrageous manner. I have invited myself for a 
couple of days to your rectory. Your wife has 
been graciously pleased to say she will be glad to 


144 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


have me; but what about you? My host must also 
express his willingness. 

‘‘Glad? I shall be delighted!” said Pevensey. 
“When will you come ?” 

McDermot named the day. 

“I shall be particularly glad to see a large town 
like Dartminster,” he said, “and to hear from your 
own lips some stories with regard to the mill hands 
and the other poor of the place.” 

“If you come to us you must not work. You 
must do what you recommended me to do at din- 
ner to-day,” said Betty, her eyes sparkling. 

The surgeon looked at her and laughed. 

“Quite right,” he said; “I won’t forget. We shall 
have a holiday. Your wife is one of my affinities, 
Mr. Pevensey, so I hope you won’t be jealous.” 

Geoffrey gave a heart-whole smile. 

“I am not surprised,” he said, after a pause. 
“Betty wins most hearts.” 

Miss Spring spent a night of great agitation. She 
was never a good sleeper : she was too highly strung, 
too nervous, for that. On this special night she did 
not sleep at all. After her return home she sat for 
a long time gazing pensively into the fire. 

She was quite well enough, and had a beautifully- 
furnished flat in which she lived. She wanted for 
nothing, as far as outward things were concerned. 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


145 


Her life was full, too, in its way, for she had many 
so-called friends. Her violin was her constant com- 
panion, and when she had nothing else to do she 
attended all the good musical concerts that she could 
make time for. In the real musical world Miss 
Spring was unknown, but she had sufficient talent 
to have become a professional had she been lucky 
enough to be born without wealth. As it was, there 
was no necessity for her to work, and she never 
thought of doing so. She rather despised women 
who worked for money; she scarcely considered 
them ladies. She had not the slightest knowledge 
of the sterner side of life. Her bread had been 
thickly buttered from her birth, and she could not 
conceive of a state of being where the butter was 
not plentiful, and where one could not have as much 
jam as possible. 

She had her own little hired victoria in summer, 
and her hired brougham in winter. She had a very 
accomplished lady’s-maid, who attended with skill 
to her toilet. She had her own favorite dressmaker 
and her own milliner. Her time was, on the whole, 
well filled up. She dressed beautifully: she lived 
luxuriously, resolutely shutting her eyes and ears to 
the problems of life. A rich woman like Miss 
Spring would naturally attract members of the other 
sex. She was proud to think, deep down in her 


146 BETTY OF THE KECTOKYl 


heart of hearts, that she had received several pro- 
posals. Not for worlds would she mention the 
names of those whom she had refused ; but she liked 
to hint to her lady friends that she could have been 
a wife had she wished. She was quite ladylike over 
the matter, and very resolved. She was a woman 
with a great deal of romance in her nature ; although 
her age was of that character known as uncertain, 
she often believed herself to be only thirty-five. 

She was exceedingly fond of day-dreams. She 
liked to imagine what would take place when her 
other half appeared, and she believed faithfully in 
the existence of her other half. When he came 
along all obstacles would fall at his approach. His 
masterful touch, the look in his eyes, the sound in 
his voice, would awaken that virgin heart. She 
would yield to him, were he rich or poor, or low or 
high. She knew that such would be the case. 

Birthday after birthday passed over poor Miss 
Spring’s head, and still the adorable one — the Prince 
— did not put in an appearance. Nevertheless, she 
still dreamed about him, and, strange as it may ap- 
pear, the older she grew the more she thought of the 
man who was to give her back her youth, and whose 
heart was to beat in unison with her own. 

She often sat for hours by her fireside making up 
pictures of him. In her pictures he was of a very 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 147 


kingly appearance. Year by year she made up dif- 
ferent types of him. Sometimes he was remarkable 
for his great strength of body, his great muscular 
power ; at other times he was lithe and wiry ; but his 
best attribute of all was his magnificent beauty. At 
other times again her hero was an intellectual giant. 
Of late her favorite hero was built up in her mind 
on the model of the knight in Burne Jones’ cele- 
brated pictures of the ‘"Briar Rose.” She had a set 
of proofs of these pictures in one of her rooms, and 
she often gazed at the figure of the knight, and 
thought of herself as the sleeping princess. 

She came home on the present occasion from 
Lady Pevensey’s dinner-party with a good many of 
her ideals shattered. For the first time for weeks 
she passed the picture of the knight without stopping 
to gaze at it, and going straight to her bedroom dis- 
missed her maid, and sat long by the fire. 

“After all,” she said to herself, “the man I met 
this evening is different from anyone I ever thought 
of before. What tremendous force there is in human 
nature! I have dreamed of that one who would 
take possession of me since I was quite a young girl, 
and oh ! how many pictures has he presented to my 
mind! He has been of the Byronic, Tennysonian, 
Browning, and Burne Jones’ type, but I never 
imagined him until to-night to be in the least like 


148 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


Mr. Power — a man with eyes that look through you ; 
and his domed head, it is true, is slightly bald, but I 
reverence such a dome as his : the hair is only thin 
from the immensity of his thoughts. Then that deli- 
cious thrill that his contact gave me ! Ah, I am not 
old after all ! I won’t think of my baptismal certifi- 
cate. Women far older than I am forget their years 
— it is much the best plan. Nobody is old in these 
days ; but — Could I give up my liberty to him ? — my 
comfortable, comfortable home? Could I submit to 
living in harness? Yes: for he is my master: a 
woman will always do anything for her master. My 
soul bows before him: he has subjugated me 
already. When his words of fiery eloquence de- 
nounced the cruelty of those who wore the plume of 
the osprey, my whole heart thrilled. I will go to see 
him to-morrow, and I will endeavor to take Laura 
Pevensey with me. It would not be delicate to go 
alone — nothing would induce me to err on that side : 
I am the last woman in existence to push myself 
forward ; but I must see him again. He has invited 
me to call, and doubtless, now I come to think of it, 
he did it with a meaning. That poor girl, his secre- 
tary, was, of course, mentioned to make me feel 
comfortable. A gentleman would not be likely to 
ask a lady to visit him in his private apartment with- 


BETTY OF THE KECTORY 149 


out some sort of chaperone — certainly not a gentle- 
man who has an affinity to me, for I am the most 
delicate-minded woman, I think, in the whole of 
London. 

‘‘Yes, I will call, beyond doubt, to-morrow. He 
needs a champion to awaken others in his good 
work. The League of the Osprey shall be inaugu- 
rated by me, and the announcement of my marriage 
with a great philosopher will doubtless take place 
before many weeks are up.’’ 

Miss Spring retired at last to rest. Whether she 
slept or not cannot be told. In the morning her 
maid, Eugenie, remarked on her mistress’s tired 
appearance. 

“I have lived through an exciting time, Eugenie,” 
said Miss Spring. She made a confidante of the 
woman, not ever telling her anything definite, but 
hinting broadly at possibilities which often took 
Eugenie’s breath away. 

“It is a sort of cmmi dat fatigue mademoiselle to 
nottingness, but I shall employ the massage, and 
arrange the most ravishing transformation; then, 
voila! dee years will ron a-way — da will fly — da 
will forsake mademoiselle ” 

“Don’t talk of years in my presence, Eugenie!” 
said Miss Spring; “the subject is exceedingly indeli- 
cate.” 


150 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“Ah, mademoiselle! I ask pardon from you: I 
did forget. Never from now will I so transgress.” 

“You have done so once or twdce lately, and 
annoyed me a good deal,” said Miss Spring. “My 
age is thirty-five: I do not wish to dress younger, 
and I do not wish to dress older.” 

*'Mais oui; mademoiselle is still quite young, in 
the springtime of life,” said Eugenie with uplifted 
hands. She knew perfectly well that her mistress 
would never see forty-five again, but her place was 
a thoroughly comfortable one, and she had no wish 
to offend the good lady. 

During the process of Miss Spring’s rejuvenes- 
cence that morning, she sighed several times. 

“Our hearts they do reciprocate, mademoiselle,” 
said Eugenie. 

“Not quite,” said Miss Spring, “seeing that you 
are a serving-maid and I am your mistress; never- 
theless, I am quite willing to extend my sympathy 
to you in any of your trials, as you give me yours 
in mine.” 

“Ah, yes! anyone may see for himself that the 
path of mademoiselle has been one of pricks; but 
mademoiselle have also de courage and de forti- 
tude of her rank, and also de riches ” 

“It is very nearly as indelicate, Eugenie, to speak 
of my riches as it is to speak of my age.” 


BETTY OE THE KECTOEY 


151 


‘Tardon, mademoiselle: never again will Eu- 
genie transgress so from now.” 

“We were talking of heroes,” said Miss Spring. 

“Were we, mademoiselle?” 

“You know it : we often do.” 

“We did vow ourselves to the life of a celibate, 
did we not, mademoiselle ?” said Eugenie. 

Miss Spring turned and faced the maid. 

“By no means,” she said; “at least — you may 
have done so; but when you meet your affinity — 
your other half — you will change your mind. I have 
alluded once or twice in confidence to the fact that 
a hero may arrive on the scene, and I have de- 
scribed him.” 

“Ah, mademoiselle! and you have thus caused 
the heart of Eugenie to beat strong — especially 
when you did speak of the type from Byron, one 
great po-^/ of your contree.” 

“The philosophic hero is far nobler,” said Miss 
Spring. “Thank you. I am going out presently: 
I shall not lunch at home. Please see to having a 
selection of dresses ready for me to choose from 
to-night.” 

Miss Spring departed. She was now elegantly 
attired in the latest mode. Her figure being exceed- 
ingly slim, she could wear a dress which might well 
suit a young girl. The color of her costume was of 


152 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


a dove-grey, but she wore a little toque of exquisite 
blue with a shaded blue feather which hung low 
over her transformation at the back. 

Her carriage was at the door. She stepped in, 
and desired the coachman to drive her to Lady 
Pevensey^s. She arrived there just when Betty and 
Laura were returning from their motor drive. 

‘‘Dear Miss Pevensey,’’ she said, “I have asked 
myself to lunch: do you think your mother will 
object 

“Of course not,’^ said Laura, in her hearty tone. 
“One extra person doesn't make the slightest dif- 
ference." 

“I want to speak to you for a moment by your- 
self, Miss Pevensey. I hope you do not mind," she 
added, turning to Betty. 

“Certainly not," said Betty, going into the house 
as she spoke. Miss Spring laid her white-gloved 
hand on Laura's arm. 

“Dear Miss Pevensey, will you do me a great 
kindness ?" 

“What is that?" asked Laura, in her brusque 
fashion. 

“I want you to reserve a little time in order to 
pay a call with me this afternoon." 

“To pay a call with you, Miss Spring! Where?" 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


153 


'T have been invited by Mr. Power to visit him*’ 
at his house. You can of course understand the 
delicacy of the situation; I should like a lady friend 
to be with me.'’ 

Laura very nearly burst into a laugh. 

“Oh, Miss Spring!” she said: “poor old Mr. 
Power! you needn't be in the least shy of going 
there by yourself — you really needn't.'' 

“I must go there by myself if you won't come 
with me !'' 

Laura thought for a moment. 

“Very well,'' she said; “I will go with you if you 
don't mind taking Betty as well.'' 

“Your sister-in-law? — that very pretty young 
woman?'' 

“Yes; isn't she sweet?'' 

Miss Spring thought for a moment. Betty cer- 
tainly was very young, and quite extraordinarily 
good-looking ; but then — she was married. She felt 
certain that her philosopher was the sort of a man 
who would think it wrong to look twice at a mar- 
ried woman ; and Laura was not in the least attract- 
ive — in fact, she was out of the running. 

“Very well,'' said Miss Spring, “we will all go. 

I just want to tell Thompson at what hour to bring 
the brougham back.” 


154 BETTY OE THE EECTORY 


Miss Spring was now in the highest spirits. 
Laura ran up to Betty and told her that they were 
going to pay Mr. Power a visit that afternoon. 

“What?’' said Betty. “That dear old gentleman 
who talked so bravely about the osprey yesterday 
at dinner?” 

“Yes; the very same.” 

“He is a remarkable man,” said Miss Spring, now 
coming gracefully forward, looking back as she did 
so to see if her train was correct; “but, pardon me, 
Miss Pevensey, I should scarcely speak of the great 
philosopher as old.” 

“Oh, well, he is not young,” said Betty; “is he?” 

“We have our ideals with regard to age,” said 
Miss Spring. “My ideal age for a man is forty: I 
don’t think any man under that age worth speaking 
to ” 

“Lunch is ready,” interrupted Laura. “I am 
starving. Good people, do come and eat — come and 
eat.” 

They all entered the dining-room. Lady Peven- 
sey was very gracious to Miss Spring. She re- 
garded her as a useful sort of woman, who could 
play soothing melodies on her violin, and who 
always looked a lady. Pevensey was not present. 
He had gone out for the day. Betty, relieved after 
her talk with Laura, which, however, had not been 


BETTY OF THE BECTORY 155 


anything like as confiding as she had intended it to 
be, was in fairly good spirits. Miss Spring sat by 
Lady Pevensey. 

''Ah, Lady Pevensey,” she said, "what a delight- 
ful evening you gave us yesterday!” 

"Did you find it so, my dear?” said the widow. 
"Now, to tell you the truth, I found it rather dull.” 

"Oh, mumsie!” cried Laura, "how wrong! and 
Mr. Dancock took you in to dinner. You certainly 
were kept occupied all the time, for he never stopped 
talking for a moment.” 

"That is what I complain of,” said Lady Peven- 
sey. "A person who talks without ceasing, and 
never allows you to get in a word, is, in my opin- 
ion, intolerable.” 

"How different from my philosopher!” mur- 
mured Miss Spring, in an undertone. 

"What were you saying. Miss Spring?” asked 
Laura. 

"Nothing, dear Miss Pevensey. I beg your par- 
don — I was only thinking of contrasts.” 

"That was an awkward moment for you,” said 
Lady Pevensey, suddenly turning and looking at 
her guest, "when that rude man, Mr. Power, seized 
the ornament from your hair. I was deeply an- 
noyed, and made up my mind never to ask him to 
dinner again.^* 


156 BETTY OF THE HECTORY 


“Oh,” said Miss Spring, “I beg of you not to be 
so cruel! on my own special account I beg of you. 
I think his action was noble.” 

“Well, I don’t,” said Lady Pevensey. “I shall 
have people afraid to come here if they think that 
part of their dress is to be snatched off by a member 
of the party who has a crank in his brain.” 

“Oh, not a crank ! not a crank I” said Miss Spring, 
tears filling her shallow blue eyes. “Think of the 
poor little birds!” 

“I never do,” said Lady Pevensey. “James, pass 
the claret round.” She spoke to the footman, who 
immediately obeyed. “I should have enjoyed my 
dinner very much,” continued Lady Pevensey, “if 
I could have got Mr. McDermot to take me in ; but, 
Laura, you are always so masterful, and you would 
give me Mr. Dancock. Mr. Dancock would have 
done quite well for Betty” — ^here she looked with 
small favor at her daughter-in-law — “whereas I am 
quite certain that if I could have had an exhaustive 
conversation with Mr. McDermot he would have 
given me hints which would have made me quite 
comfortable on the score of appendicitis. I am 
often dreadfully nervous, fearing that I may have 
symptoms of the dire complaint.” 

“Not a bit of it, mums,” said Laura; “you are 
as healthy a woman as ever lived.” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOHY 157 

“I! — with my neurasthenia?” said Lady Peven- 
sey. 

“Yes,” said Laura. “That is what keeps you 
healthy. People with nerves never have anything 
else.” 

Lady Pevensey turned her handsome bright eyes 
towards Miss Spring. In her mind she was saying : 
“How old that poor woman looks!” Aloud, her 
remark was: 

“You perceive how little sympathy I get from my 
daughter.” 

“But Miss Pevensey is so funny,” said Miss 
Spring. 

“Funny! Miss Spring! — when she insults her 
mother !” 

“You know I don’t mean it, mums,” said Laura; 
“and Miss Spring knows I don’t mean it.” 

“Actions sp'eak louder than words,” said Lady 
Pevensey. “Miss Spring, you are a lucky woman: 
you have avoided the shoals of matrimony.” 

“Ah !” said Miss Spring, with a start. 

“I repeat it,” said Lady Pevensey, “the fatal 
shoals of matrimony. You have never gone through 
the pangs of motherhood, nor the sorrows of 
widowhood; nor the daily rubs, the daily misunder- 
standings, of wifehood. You are not left now with 
a son and daughter on your hands who, to say the 


158 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


least of it, are modern in their ideas, and who leave 
you, therefore, out in the cold. You are a wise 
woman. When your symptoms of appendicitis 
come on you will have no one to say to you, Tt’s 
only neurasthenia.’ Now, shall we all come into 
the drawing-room?” 

“Really, mumsie is crushing to-day,” said Laura 
in a low tone to Betty. 

It was decided that the three ladies should visit 
Mr. Power about four o’clock in the afternoon. 
When the subject was discussed before Lady Peven- 
sey, she expressed amazement. 

“What a dreadfully dull place to go to !” she said. 

“Not to me,” said Miss Spring, clasping her 
hands in ecstasy. 

Lady Pevensey looked at her without compre- 
hending her meaning. 

“I mean,” said Miss Spring, after a pause, “to 
take up the great mission which has suddenly been 
offered me in life.” 

“Good gracious !” cried Lady Pevensey. 

“The philosopher’s cruelties,” continued Miss 
Spring. 

“Are you mad ?” asked Lady Pevensey. “I never 
had a great liking for Mr. Power, but until now I 
have never heard him anathematized as cruel.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 159 


'‘He is endeavoring to put down cruelty,” said 
Miss Spring, in a strong and penetrating voice. “I 
am prepared — I am up in arms — and I trust. Lady 
Pevensey, that I shall find in you one of my earliest 
disciples. Not a friend that I possess shall be left 
in the dark with regard to this great subject. Mr. 
Power has aroused enthusiasm within me by the 
way in which he spoke at your dinner-table yester- 
day.” 

“I should advise you to keep your head on the 
subject,” said Lady Pevensey: “but, after all, you 
can do as you like; you’re not married; you can 
thank God for your freedom.” 

Presently the ladies drove off to visit Mr. Power. 
Miss Spring was now the leader of the expedition. 
She was in her own brougham. She could there- 
fore command the situation. Betty, in a soft brown 
dress, with a brown hat to match, its drooping 
plume of ostrich feathers shading her sweet face, 
insisted on sitting opposite to Laura and Miss 
Spring. Miss Spring would have vacated the seat 
of honor in Betty’s favor had she not suddenly 
remembered that sitting with her back to the horses 
gave her a red nose. It was necessary for her to 
look her best. The philosopher might not admire 
her quite so much if her nose were rubicund. As a 


160 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


matter of fact, the more she saw of Betty the less 
did she care for her. She looked such a girl and 
was undeniably beautiful. 

Mr. Power lived in a ramshackle house in Kep- 
pel Street, Bloomsbury. He owned the entire 
house, but only occupied the lower part of it. There 
he had his large study, or library, and his labora- 
tory at the back; and down a long passage was his 
bedroom. He had a housekeeper of an ancient and 
forbidding type to look after him, and Miss Hughes 
came every morning at ten o’clock and left every 
day at five. 

Miss Mary Hughes was a middle-aged, freckled 
woman, with a determined cast of face. She was 
an excellent typist and shorthand writer, and her 
spelling was so admirable that, notwithstanding the 
extraordinary words the philosopher was fond of 
using in his writings, she was never at a loss with 
regard to putting them on paper. She was a really 
clever woman, and could also, to a certain extent, 
correct his proofs. She was unobtrusive and faith- 
ful, and he looked upon her something in the light 
of a machine. He paid her liberally, however. She 
had been with him now for two or three years. He 
was accustomed to her, and she to him. There 
were often days when he had nothing whatever to 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


161 


give her to do, when he paced restlessly up and 
down his library, occasionally taking a heavy tome 
from a shelf to look up a certain passage, murmur- 
ing that it would not do at all, and then continuing 
his walk. 

On these occasions Miss Hughes busied herself 
with a novel, which she generally kept concealed in 
her pocket. She always arrived sharp to the min- 
ute at ten, and always left sharp to the minute at 
five, and she never said “good-morning” to the 
philosopher, nor “good evening” when she was 
going. On the days when he was abstracted, and 
puzzled over a problem, she read comfortably, ex- 
cept during the hour when she went out for lunch. 
He never noticed her presence. She was there if she 
was required. He was semi-conscious of that fact:' 
that was all. 

It so happened on this particular afternoon that 
Professor Power was at home. The ladies arrived 
sharp at four. Miss Spring looked round her very 
excitedly. The hall was intensely dreary : the 
housekeeper was foiT)idding. Miss Spring was 
absolutely obliged to raise her dainty skirts as the 
three went in the direction of the Professor’s library. 

“This won’t do,” said Miss Spring to herself. 
“He must come and live with me in my flat : but of 


162 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


course he won’t mind. This is a fine house, but the 
situation is impossible, and — oh, it’s quite too dark 
and dingy !” 

Professor Power, dressed for dinner, looked his 
best. Professor Power, in the midst of work, looked 
the reverse of his best. He generally wore an old 
dressing-gown of a flowery pattern, which was 
lightly corded round his waist and reached to his 
ankles. He had no collar on, and his domed head 
was, even in Miss Spring’s eyes, scarcely beautiful. 
He blinked when the ladies arrived, stared in amaze- 
ment, and then, recognizing Laura, came forward. 

‘HIow do you do. Miss Pevensey?” 

^‘How do you do. Professor,” said Miss Spring, 
in a voice which she considered clear and flute-like, 
but which was in reality very shrill. ‘T have come 
according to our arrangement.” 

“Our — I beg your pardon?” said Professor 
Power. 

Miss Spring thought it time to take up a firm 
attitude. She shook her finger in the Professor’s 
face, and said: 

“Ah, naughty man! You pretend to forget; but 
of course you remember all too well. I am here 
as your champion.” 

Mary Hughes, who had been typing in a corner, 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 163 

now stopped work and turned a decidedly aggres- 
sive face towards Miss Spring. She perceived a 
lady dressed to simulate youth, and knew quite well 
by the elongated appearance of the Professor’s back 
and the way he straightened his sloping shoulders 
that he was exceedingly annoyed. 

She tripped forward at once. 

*^Can I do anything for you, madam?” she said. 

Miss Spring turned and looked at her. 

‘^Nothing whatsoever,” she answered. “I am 
here to speak to Professor Power.” 

Miss Hughes colored angrily. Betty immediately 
went up to her and diverted her attention. 

‘T am so interested in typewriters,” she said. 
^‘Do show me yours.” 

How sweet was that young voice ! how pretty that 
charming face! There was an eagerness in the 
tone, too, which won Miss Hughes’ withered, but 
by no means unkindly, heart. 

'T want to get a typewriter to take home with 
me,” said Betty. ‘‘My husband is a clerygman.” 

“Husband I” thought Miss Hughes ; “then she, at 
least, isn’t after him. That other woman is quite 
too dreadful.” 

“Yours is a Remington typewriter, I see,” said 
Betty. “I really must get one. I wish you would 
teach me how to use it. I suppose it is asking you 


164 BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


too much; but I should so much like to type my 
husband’s sermons for him.” 

“I will give you a lesson with pleasure,” Miss 
Hughes found herself saying. *Tt is really quite 
easy. You can learn the mechanism very quickly. 
Rapid work, of course, only comes by practice.” 

**Show me how you do it,” said Betty. 

Laura began to move round the room, peering 
forward to read the names of several ancient books. 

‘‘What a dreary place,” she kept saying to her- 
self. “I wonder how long Miss Spring will be. 
The philosopher is in an awful rage, I can see that. 
What is Miss Spring driving at? If there were a 
single new looking book in the room I’d sit down 
and read it.” 

Miss Spring had now, as she considered, the field 
to herself. 

“I want to speak to you,” she said to the Profes- 
sor, lowering her voice. “I have been thinking over 
your words.” 

“Excuse me, madam, what words ?” 

“Dear Professor” — the lady’s tone became very 
gentle — “you cannot forget what you did last night 
— the osprey in my hair — your eloquence on the 
subject: I — your devoted convert — I, resolute, 
touched, humiliated, brought round for evermore 
to your point of view.” 


BETTY OE THE EECTOEY 165 


‘T recall the circumstance now,” said Professor 
Power, ‘forgive me that I did not remember you 
quite at the first.” 

^T have made up my mind to help you. You 
spoke of having inaugurated a league to put down 
this cruel practice.” 

no means: it was inaugurated long ago by 
others. I think Miss Hughes can tell you who are 
the people to apply to.” 

This was a great blow to Miss Spring. 

“Miss Hughes, come here,” called the Professor. 

Miss Hughes instantly left Betty, and came up 
to where Miss Spring and the Professor were stand- 
ing. 

“This lady is interested in the League for Sup- 
pressing Cruelty to Birds. You have got some 
papers: will you give them to her?” 

“Yes, Mr. Power.” 

“Put them in an envelope, and be as quick as you 
can.” 

“Yes, Mr. Power.” 

Miss Hughes withdrew. 

“And,” continued Miss Spring, the moment they 
were alone again, “there are other subjects, other 
cruelties, that your great, your magnificent heart 
would suppress and subdue. I am with you, heart 
and soul.” 


166 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


^^How kind of you ! Ah, excuse me one minute — 
I see that young lady has taken one of my books 
from the shelf. It is a very rare folio. I cannot 
permit it to be touched.” 

The Professor darted away, leaving Miss Spring 
standing in the middle of the room. The next 
moment Miss Hughes came up to her with a little 
packet containing the papers. 

*^You will find all particulars here,” said Miss 
Hughes, sweetly. She had a much nicer voice than 
Miss Spring possessed. The two women gazed 
each into the eyes of the other. 

^‘She, that dreadful creature, thinks that my 
Professor is her other half!” was the angry con- 
clusion which flashed through Miss Spring’s brain. 

She said ^‘Thank you” in an icy tone, took the 
packet, and sailed across the room, looking back at 
her train, as was her invariable habit. 

“Dear Laura!” she said, “I must call you Laura; 
we seem to be such friends ; we have spent so many 
happy days together, and girls ought always to be 
friendly each with the other.” 

“Girls indeed!” thought Laura. Her eyes filled 
with fun. “Betty, come here,” she said. 

“Ah, that is delightful ! Mrs. Pevensey will help 
me. Laura, I know you will help me. Professor, 
we have a great favor to ask at your hands.” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 167 


‘What is that?” asked the Professor. “You 
have come at a busy moment, ladies, but of course I 
don’t wish to be rude.” 

“We should so dearly love — we should think it 
such an honor — if you would let us have tea with 
you,” said Miss Spring. 

“Of course not!” said Laura. 

“We could not think of disturbing you!” said 
Betty. 

They were both really distressed on account of 
Miss Spring. 

“She has got that mania about her other half 
on her brain,” thought Laura. “If I don’t soon get 
her out of the house she’ll propose to him.” 

But the Professor all of a sudden looked into 
Betty’s eyes, where he saw youth and beauty; and 
his irritability at the intrusion of the three ladies 
vanished from his mind. 

“Yes; Miss Hughes, see to it,” he said, calling 
over his shoulder to his secretary, who promptly 
left the room to obey his behest. 

After a long time tea was brought in by the 
ungracious housekeeper, who plumped it down sul- 
lenly on a dusty table, looked with rage at Miss 
Spring, with annoyance at Laura, then suddenly 
became complacent and agreeable when she glanced 
at Betty. 


168 BETTY OF THE BECTOHY 


During the meal the philosopher only talked to 
Betty, and all Miss Spring’s arts and devices were 
thrown away. Before the ladies left he did an 
extraordinary thing, very much what McDermot 
did the night before. He asked Betty if he might 
come and see her at Hillside Rectory. Betty cor- 
dially invited him to do so. It was arranged that 
his visit should be immediately after Christmas — in 
fact, at the very same time as McDermot’s visit. 
Soon afterwards there was no excuse but to go, 
and the three found themselves once more in Miss 
Spring’s brougham. 

‘‘You needn’t do any more work to-day. Miss 
Hughes,” said the Professor, when his guests had 
gone. “That is a very beautiful young lady.” 

“Which, sir?” asked Miss Hughes. “I trust, sir, 
not the — the old young lady.” 

“There were only two young ladies present. 
There was an elderly woman who, I think, is rather 
weak in her head. But I was speaking just now of 
the married young lady — Mrs. Pevensey.” 

“Oh, yes, yes!” said Miss Hughes, in a tone of 
delight: “hasn’t she a charming face? She wants 
me to teach her typewriting.” 

“I am going down to stay at her husband’s rec- 
tory immediately after Christmas,” said Power. 
“Why shouldn’t you come at the same time? I 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 169 


will drop her a line to that effect. You can take 
notes for me in the mornings, and teach her the 
typewriter in the afternoons.” 

“Oh, sir!” said poor Miss Hughes; “if you 
would — if you could manage it, it would be heaven !” 

“Now donT make exaggerated remarks, young 
woman. Yes, I will manage it. She is a very sweet 
creature. You can go now.” 


CHAPTER XII 


Miss Spring had not much strength of charac- 
ter, but she was a curiously tenacious person, and 
seldom or never saw when she was beaten. She 
said to herself that the Professor really thought 
very highly of her, that it required but a very little 
influence on her part to bring him over completely 
to her side, and that if she could secure for herself 
an invitation to Hillside Rectory she would accom- 
plish this task with ease. 

Accordingly, she made herself delightful to 
Betty. 

^‘We have enjoyed ourselves,” she said. ‘‘What 
a very fine type of man that is. Now, I tell you 
what, girls, you must both come home with me. I 
think we will have a little extra tea. Poor dear Mr. 
Power’s housekeeper is not a proficient in the art of 
making tea for ladies to drink.” 

“We can’t come back to-day. Miss Spring,” said 
Eaura, “for Betty and her husband and I are going 
to the theatre this evening, and it’s getting late 
already. If you will kindly drop us at our own 
hall door we shall be very much obliged to you.” 

no 


BETTY OE The EECTOEY 


171 


“Very well,” said Miss Spring. 

During the rest of the drive she animadverted on 
the Professor’s surroundings. She said that in her 
opinion it was a crying shame that a great man 
should be so neglected. 

“He wants for everything,” she said. 

“Everything! What do you mean?” said Betty. 
“It seems to me that he wants for nothing.” 

Miss Spring opened her eyes in anger. 

“Do you mean for a moment to say to me that a 
person with that great brain power is comfortable 
in a horrible, dark, dirty, musty room like that — 
with no one to speak to, no one to mingle his 
thoughts with, no one to sympathize? Why, he 
doesn’t even get his meals properly: his brain will 
fail him for lack of nourishment.” 

“He is not a young man,” said Laura, “and his 
brain has held out for a long time. As to friends, 
he likes men friends best. Now, good-bye. Miss 
Spring. Thank you very much for seeing us home. 
Come, Betty.” 

“Good-bye,” said Betty, in her sweet voice. 

''Will you at least come and see me to-morrow?” 
said Miss Spring, in an eager tone. She felt she 
must not let Betty out of her sight. 

“I will if I can,” said Betty. 

“Oh, but you must — you shall ! I do so long to 


172 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


show you my little home. Bring your husband with 
you. Come and have tea with me to-morrow. 
Now, say ‘yes’: don’t hesitate: say ‘yes’ at once. 
You will come — you know you will.” 

“Very well,” said Betty. “I don’t think we have 
an engagement. If we have, I will let you know 
to-night : but I don’t think we have.” 

“I will expect you both at half-past four: you 
two, alone. Good-bye until then.” 

Betty entered the house, and Miss Spring drove 
home. She was going out herself to dinner and 
afterwards to a very large At Home. She flung 
the thick envelope with which Miss Hughes had 
supplied her into a waste-paper basket, and, seat- 
ing herself by a glowing fire, thought and thought. 

“It is a great opportunity,” she murmured. “It 
would be giving up a terrible lot, but in such a cause 
who would not? It would be changing all my life, 
but, again, in such a cause who would not ? He was 
impressed — I could see that. He would never woo 
a woman on the ordinary lines ; but I could see that 
he was attracted. His short-sighted eyes seemed 
to devour me once or twice. He tried to cover his 
feeling by talking to little Mrs. Pevensey. That’s 
an excellent idea — his going down to Hillside Rec- 
tory. I must manage to be one of your guests, too, 
my dear, pretty Mrs. Pevensey.” 


b^:tty of the eectoey its 


The good lady sighed. 

“Will mademoiselle now choose a costume for 
this evening?’’ interrupted Eugenie’s voice. 

“Ah, Eugenie!” said her mistress. “I want you 
to make me look as — as beautiful as you can.” 

“Then mademoiselle have still the desires of the 
jeunessef^ 

“Did I not tell you, Eugenie, not to speak to me 
of youth or age. There is no such thing as age: 
we can all keep young if we choose.” 

“And mademoiselle is truly young,” said the 
maid. “I propose the coral pink robe with the 
passementerie that shine with the glory of de rain- 
bow — it will suit mademoiselle ; and I have arranged 
a transformation that will adorn the head a mer- 
veille/' 

“Yes, I will wear the rose-colored dress; but I 
want to rest for an hour. Just give me that latest 
novel by Elinor Glyn : it lies on the table. Now go 
away for an hour, Eugenie. I must have that time 
to sleep if I can.” 

“Ah, the lovely sleep! How it does repose the 
weary!” said Eugenie. “And,” she added, as she 
looked round the luxurious room, “has mademoi- 
selle found Monsieur le Professeur so charming as 
she did say Eugenie?” 

“I will tell you presently,” said Miss Spring. 


174 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 

^'She will meet him to-night,” thought Eugenie 
to herself. “I do not want her to marry. I am so 
comfortable in this snug little appartement ; and 
my friends are many, and I have my own admirers, 
not a few. I will not that she is beautiful to-night: 
she shall be ugly, but she shall think herself beauti- 
ful.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


Th^ next day Betty and her husband arrived at 
Miss Spring’s flat in time for tea. The good lady 
met them with an enthusiasm which she knew well 
how to affect. She was dressed perfectly; she had 
seen to that herself. Eugenie could not coerce her 
into wearing an unsuitable dress. In a pale fawn- 
colored robe, wearing an exceedingly becoming 
transformation, in the subdued light of the flat, with 
its rose-colored curtains drawn, while the firelight 
mingled with the lamplight, she might almost have 
been what she forced herself to believe — a lady 
who has reached the delightful age of thirty-five. 
Now twenty-five was the ideal age of youth, but 
thirty- five had much to say for itself, for it meant 
a ripe experience, with all the charms of woman- 
hood intact. 

This was the age Miss Spring had decided to 
adopt. She had her violin near, and the piano was 
open. There was a scent of flowers in the room. 
Altogether, she looked picturesque. Her worst 
enemy could not deny that she was a graceful per- 
ns 


176 BETTY OF THE EECTOEYj 


son. She moved well, and had an elegant figure. 
She came forward at once to greet Betty. 

‘'This is good!’' she said. “Thank you so very 
much for coming.” 

Betty suddenly remembered that Miss Spring had 
said on the previous day that no man was worth 
talking to who was less than forty years of age. 
Miss Spring seemed to find Geoffrey Pevensey a 
thoroughly agreeable person. She drew him out, 
using some skill in the process. She had soon 
launched Pevensey on a subject about which he 
knew a great deal but on which she herself was 
totally ignorant. She confessed her ignorance with 
the prettiest sigh and a smile. 

“Alas!” she said, “behold me — a woman in the 
prime of life — thirty-five years of age my last birth- 
day! I don’t mind confiding my age in you two 
sweet young creatures. Of course you think me 
terribly old; but anyone who lives to that age may 
reasonably hope to have excellent health to spend 
many more years of life. Now, I was deeply 
impressed the other night with what that splendid 
man, Professor Power, said. Scales seemed to fall 
from my eyes. The question of the poor, the ques- 
tion of the lower creatures who suffer, loomed large 
before me. Professor Power, dear man! is a mar- 
vellous instrument in the hands of the Almighty for 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 177 

checking cruelty to dumb creatures. He is, I under- 
stand, an antivivisectionist — oh, the horror of vivi- 
section! He devotes all his valuable time to his 
propaganda. But you, Mr. Pevensey, take even a 
higher attitude, for the birds and beasts cannot com- 
pare to the human race.” 

“What is the woman driving at?” thought Peven- 
sey to himself. 

He made a commonplace remark. He was tired, 
and looked wearily round him. Miss Spring con- 
tinued : 

“I have no experience of the wants of the poor — 
the destitute; but do have another cup of tea, Mr. 
Pevensey. Sugar? Yes, of course; I know you 
take one lump. Cream?” 

“Very little.” 

“Quite so.” She handed him a cup. “Mrs. 
Pevensey, pray make yourself at home. Won’t 
you have a sandwich ? These are very delicious, for 
Victorine, my waiting-maid, always makes them 
herself. But what was I saying? Yes, I remem- 
ber; I am totally ignorant with regard to the poor 
and their sufferings, as I was until lately with regard 
to the sufferings of the lower creatures. To be 
absolutely frank — as I have just been with regard 
to my age — I never could bear the lower creatures. 
No bird, or dog, or cat for me. Well, now my eyes 


178 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 

are opened. It is even possible that I may take in 
a stray cat, but I am not sure — it would be a fear- 
ful sacrifice. But there is one thing I can do. I 
don’t mind telling you two dear young things 
that I am rich — ^yes, really, absolutely rich. My 
father was a wealthy man, and he has left 
me more money than I know what to do with. 
A lonely woman, even though she is surrounded by 
the comforts of life — and I never aspire to more — 
cannot spend a great deal on herself. The fact is, 
that year by year I never use even my income : con- 
sequently the money which I possess increases at a 
very steady pace. Now it has occurred to me that 
money is a talent. I think of offering some of it 
to Mr. Power in order to help him with his great 
work. And I would offer some of it to you, Mr. 
Pevensey, if you think you could spend it for the 
benefit of your suffering poor.” 

Pevensey’s eyes grew brighter, while Betty leaned 
forward, looking impulsive and eager. 

'‘Oh, if you only would!” she said. "Why, it 
would be quite splendid; wouldn’t it, Geoff?” 

"There is an old saying,” remarked Pevensey, "to 
the effect that those who give to the poor lend to 
the Lord. I believe in it. Miss Spring.” 

"Quite so,” said Miss Spring. 

"There is a great deal of suffering at Dartminster 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 179 

during the winter,” said Betty, “and they say this 
special winter is going to be particularly severe. We 
want all the help we can get. Do you really, really 
mean what you say?” 

“I undoubtedly mean it; but I never give of my 
wealth unless I know the exact cases that will be 
relieved by it. You must pardon my eccentricity — 
you may call it my mania if you like — but I must 
know all about those whom I relieve.” 

Pevensey and his wife looked quietly at the lady, 
who spoke in an eager voice, but without apparent 
excitement. She felt that she held the key of the 
position. 

“To be frank,” she said, after a pause; “first, do 
have another cup of tea, Mrs. Pevensey.” 

“Thank you; half of one, please,” answered 
Betty. 

Miss Spring poured out the tea and handed the 
cup calmly back to Betty. It was delightful to have 
the key of the situation. These young people were 
very gullible. She could practically do what she 
liked with them. 

“I had,” she said, “a great awakening the night 
before last. The cause was the osprey.” 

“Oh,” said Pevensey. “We thought Power very 
rude.” 

“And I didn’t : he was forced by the greatness of 


180 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


his indignation to pour forth his words. Even 
though they stunned and frightened, they also 
roused and animated me. I am a different woman. 
Mrs. Pevensey, I heard you ask him to visit you at 
Hillside Rectory immediately after Christmas. He 
is an exceedingly busy man, and there is little or no 
hope of my daring to interrupt him while he is in 
London; but while with you I could find an oppor- 
tunity. I could impress upon him the fact that I 
have the will to assist him largely ; and I also could, 
with your aid, Mr. Pevensey, find out how best to 
assist you in your great parochial work. I propose, 
therefore, if you have no objection, to come to a 
hotel at Dartminster at the same time, and thus 
join your party, and aid you, as it were, in a council 
of war.” 

“But you must come to us,” said Betty. “If you 
come at all you must come to us. We have a large 
house^ and plenty of room, and we will be quite 
delighted to have you. What a big party we shall 
be !” she continued excitedly ; “for Laura is coming, 
too, and this morning I had a letter from Mr. Power 
asking if his secretary. Miss Hughes, might accom- 
pany him.” 

“What?” said Miss Spring; “that repulsive-look- 
ing woman?” 

“But indeed,” said Betty, “she is not repulsive 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 181 


at all. She is exceedingly nice. I was delighted 
when he suggested it; for she can take down notes 
which he is anxious to make — he studies every sort 
of subject; and she can also teach me the Reming- 
ton typewriter. I bought a machine this morning, 
and am going to take one lesson from her before my 
return home. Mr. McDermot is also coming. You 
will be heartily welcome.” 

‘‘For two days,” said the Rector. ‘‘You will for- 
give me. Miss Spring, for putting a limit to our 
invitation, but our other guests are staying only for 
that period, and Betty and I are very busy people.” 

“How delightful you both are!” said Miss Spring, 
who, having gained her point, was now in radiant 
spirits. “Trust to my helping you. Of course, I 
must come, when you urge it so prettily, Mrs. 
Pevensey. In some ways I should have preferred 
the hotel, because I do so hate to crowd people.” 

“You won’t crowd us,” said Betty; “we have 
abundance of rOom.” 

“Very well; then I accept. On what day does 
the Professor come? I could perhaps ask him to 
chaperone me to Dartminster. It is rather a wild 
sort of place, isn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?” said Pevensey, knitting 
his brows into a frown. 

“I have been given to understand,” said Miss 


182 BETTY OF THE KECTORY 


Spring, ‘‘that all great manufacturing centres are 
peopled by bodies of roughs. I am terribly afraid 
of roughs.’* 

“You needn’t have the slightest fear. If you 
really want to help people you must not show undue 
nervousness, must you?” 

The Rector smiled gently. Soon afterwards, the 
final arrangements having been made, Betty and 
her husband took their leave. As they were driving 
back to Lady Pevensey’s house, Pevensey looked 
at his wife. 

“You dear little girl,” he said, “you have put 
your foot into it.” 

“What do you mean, Geoff?” she asked. “Put 
my foot in it?” 

“Yes,” replied Pevensey, “by asking that dread- 
ful woman.” 

“Oh, she’s not dreadful, Geoff ; she is just rather 
queer and stranded. I do so pity stranded people. 
I want to set her afloat again.” 

“And you think you can do it, darling?” 

“Of course; once she knows what the feelings of 
the poor really are, and once her eyes are opened 
to the great cruelties that underlie our modern civili- 
zation, she will only be too glad to spend and to be 
spent.” 

"‘You have wonderful faith, my little Betty,” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 183 


“I couldn’t live without it,” she replied with en- 
thusiasm. 

The Rector sighed. He made no further remark 
about Miss Spring. His thoughts were altogether 
turned inwards. He was dwelling on himself and 
the tortures of mind he was really undergoing from 
the loss of his sedative. He was determined to 
conquer for Betty’s sake; but the struggle was ter- 
rible. 

Betty, with her quick intuition, knew almost ex- 
actly what he thought ; but she would not allow her- 
self to dwell on the matter for his sake. On the con- 
trary, she spoke cheerfully. Once she laid her hand 
in his, and he felt the sympathy of her touch. 

When Lady Pevensey and Laura found out that 
Miss Spring was to be one of the Rectory party 
after Christmas they gave vent to no slight criti- 
cism. 

“That woman is intolerable,” said Lady Peven- 
sey. 

“Oh, but I don’t think so,” said Betty; “she has 
a great many good points.” 

“She has a pretty way with her as regards the 
violin, but beyond that I have never discovered her 
points, as you call them,” said Lady Pevensey with 
a sneer. 

Betty was sitting close to her mother-in-law. 


184 BETTY OE THE RECTORY 


Now she laid her hand on her knee and looked into 
her face. 

strikes me,” she said slowly, “that it is much, 
much better to help people who have not got points 
than people who have. Those who have all sorts of 
attractions don’t need us a bit: those who haven’t 
many need us a great deal. I think, somehow. Miss 
Spring needs Geoffrey and me.” 

“Really, Betty, you will become intolerable if you 
carry your philanthropy into everything,” was Lady 
Pevensey’s remark. 

“It is not exactly philanthropy,” said the girl, “it ^ 
is a question of faith. I am put into this world to 
help to make it a better place. I want to make 
myself better and happier if I can.” 

“I tell you what,” said Laura, “you fleece her, 
Bettina, for all she is worth. She is enormously 
rich, poor thing, and as stingy with regard to giv- 
ing to others as anyone I ever met.” 

“She has promised to help Geoffrey and me,” 
said Betty in a low voice. “And I am very glad,” 
she added; “we do need her money for our poor, 
and if we can help her in return, it seems but a very 
small thing to do.” 

“You know, of course, why she is going to stay 
with you?” said Laura. 

“Oh, she told us quite frankly. She said that 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 185 


Professor Power had opened her eyes; that at last 
she perceived the sufferings of the lower creation, 
and by that means the sufferings of the human race/’ 

''She was very frank: Professor Power opened 
her eyes,” said Laura, in a meditative voice. 
"Betty, you are a little goose! But I won’t en- 
lighten such innocence; it would not be fair.” 

"I wonder,” said Lady Pevensey, "if she hap- 
pened to mention her age to you.” 

"She did, poor thing!” said Betty. "But she 
asked Geoff and me not to speak of it. I thought 
,it was so nice of her.” 

"Very nice indeed,” said Laura. "You naturally 
won’t speak of it, will you?” 

"No,” said Betty, "of course not. Though,” she 
added, "I don’t think anybody need be ashamed on 
the subject of age. It is really the one thing we are 
not to be blamed about. We cannot help our 
years.” 

"So speaks sweet-and-twenty,” remarked Laura. 
"Wait until you are Miss Spring’s age — eight-and- 
forty — and you’ll have a very different story to 
tell.” 

"You make a great mistake with regard to poor 
Miss Spring,” said Betty. "She is nothing like as 
old as that.” 

"Ah, I thought not, I thought not,” said Laura, 


186 BETTY OE THE BECTORY 


dubiously. ‘'All right, Betty: I am not the one to 
shake your faith.” 

“There is one thing I am delighted about,” said 
Betty, after a pause, “and that is, that Miss Hughes 
is coming down. I want to give her such a good 
time. I know she is poor; and she has never had 
any of the real pleasure of life. Geoff, dear, I wish 
you could see her. She has just that anxious, over- 
wrought sort of face that we see now and then 
amongst some of the mothers of the mill hands — 
those mothers who know that their sons may be 
killed any day or any hour in the work which is 
their daily bread. Oh, I like Miss Hughes. I am, 
as a matter of fact, more interested in her than in 
any of my guests except dear Mr. McDermot.” 

“Dear Mr. McDermot, indeed!” said Laura. 
“And haven’t you a good word to throw in for your 
sister-in-law, Bettina ?” 

“Oh, Laura, you don’t count,” said Betty; “you 
are one of the family.” 

A couple of days later Betty and her husband 
returned to Hillside Rectory, and there the Rector 
began in grave and sober earnest to fight his foe. 
It had been a comparatively light task while he was 
in London; for the bright atmosphere, the many 
social functions, the constant change from one 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 187 


pleasant scene to another had acted healthily upon 
his mind. But now, once again, the cloud of despair 
visited him. There were long nights spent in tor- 
ture, and over and over again he was on the point 
of going to the chemist who had the prescription of 
the medicine which gave him relief and which could 
so easily be made up again. But up to the present 
he had not yielded. He made a request of Betty 
when he first returned home not to watch or appear 
to notice him. 

^‘You know everything, my own wife,’’ he said. 
‘‘You asked me to share my secret, and I have put 
it into your loving hands. But although it is in 
your possession you must never use it against me.” 

“Use it against you, Geoff!” she replied. “How 
could I do such an awful thing? What can you 
mean, darling?” 

“I mean exactly what I say,” replied the young 
man. “You can use it against me by showing anx- 
iety, by watching me in any way. I want you to 
keep that secret so firmly and safely locked up in 
your heart that I shall never perceive by the expres- 
sion on your face or the look in your eyes that you 
know anything about it. If I spend the whole night 
in my study and never once come to our room, you 
must not question me. If you suspect me of having 
broken my resolve, you must say nothing. When 


188 BETTY OF THE BECTOHY 


I want to speak to you I will speak, but you must 
never broach the subject. Promise me that.” 

‘T promise,” she replied. 

‘Hook me in the eyes, Betty.” 

She raised her beautiful brown eyes to his. 

“You are a darling!” he continued. “Oh, what 
a heavy weight I am causing you to bear !” 

“No, no, no 1” she replied ; “I love to carry it for 
you.” 

Thus the first fortnight after the Pevenseys’ re- 
turn from London passed without anything special 
occurring. The Rector suffered, but did not once 
break down. Such suffering as his must lead in 
the end to a calmer state of being and to recovery 
of lost nerves. But the time of real victory was 
far off, and Geoffrey felt each day that the strain 
upon him was more and more intolerable. 

The weather was dull and very foggy. There 
was a slackening of work at some of the mills, and 
a considerable number of people were in great dis- 
tress owing to lack of food. 

The Rector lived in the gloomy atmosphere of 
the great town all day long, and returned home 
nearly maddened by the sight of misery which he 
could not relieve and yet was called upon to wit- 
ness. His wife was his right hand, helping him in 
every possible way. Once, when he spoke of the 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 189 


impossibility of relieving the real distress, she sug- 
gested that she herself should write a line to Miss 
Spring. 

“No,’’ he answered. “She says she will give 
nothing until she sees for herself. If there is any- 
thing in her, which I doubt, she shall see for herself 
and learn her lesson while here. But, somehow, I 
have little faith in that woman, Betty.” 

It was about a week before Christmas, when 
Betty, who had been spending a very busy morning, 
first attending to her household duties, and then dis- 
tributing coal and grocery tickets, had just returned 
to her sitting-room to write a long letter to her old 
home, when a telegram was put into her hands. She 
opened it, and read the following words with con- 
sternation : 

“Rachel dangerously ill. Come home at once if 
you can.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation Betty looked up 
the time-table, discovered a train which would take 
her to the nearest junction where she must change 
for Deepdale, and filled in a return telegram. 

“Will be at Deepdale to-night.” 

The boy who had brought the telegram hurried 
off, whistling unconcernedly, with Betty’s reply. 
Betty felt her heart beating hard. A sensation of 
great misery assailed her. Little Rachel, the baby 


190 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


of the happy rectory, ill — wanting her! For the 
time she forgot her husband, and could only think 
of the home baby, as she always spoke of little 
Rachel Ross. Such a message as had just reached 
her would not have been sent if the case were not 
urgent. 

She would not hesitate: she must go, without a 
moment’s delay. Geoffrey would not be home until 
dinner-time. Betty enclosed the telegram which 
she had just received, and wrote a few words with 
it. 

“Will leave Dartminster by the 2 : 10 , and will 
wire you when I get to Deepdale. Take care of 
yourself. Will come back the first moment I can. — 
Betty.’’ 

Then she ran upstairs, put a few things into her 
portmanteau, and came down to give what direc- 
tions she could to her household. 

All her servants loved Betty Pevensey. She had 
told one or two of them about the bright little child 
who was the idol of her own home, and they were 
full of sorrow when they learned the fact that she 
was dangerously ill. Betty gave all the directions 
she could about her husband, but her thoughts were 
still with little Rachel. For the time being, the 
child came first; the husband was put second. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 191 


It was not until she found herself in the express 
which was carrying her rapidly to the great junc- 
tion where she was to change for Deepdale that the 
thought of Pevensey all alone without her bright 
presence came back to her with an intense wave of 
anxiety. Had she done right to leave him? But — 
oh, yes, she had; she could not do otherwise. The 
little one whom she had loved and mothered from 
her birth was dangerously ill. Her own father and 
her stepmother had sent for her. Pevensey would 
be the last person in all the world to hold her back. 
Nevertheless, she was miserable and anxious about 
him, for she thought of his secret care, of the temp- 
tation which daily and hourly assailed him. She 
knew well that although he never spoke of it to her 
it occupied all his thoughts ; and she knew well also 
that when the enemy came in like a flood he took 
refuge in her presence and remained with her until 
the worst of the temptation was past. Now she 
would not be with him. Nevertheless, the child 
wanted her — the little, sweet, eager, loving, impul- 
sive child. Her very life might be hanging in the 
balance. The presence of Betty once more by her 
bedside might cause the child’s recovery. Her re- 
fusal to be present might, on the other hand, bring 
about little Rachel’s death. 

When Betty at last reached Deepdale she was met 


192 BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


by Mr. Ross. She was sincerely attached to her 
father. Until she met Geoffrey the Rev. Michael 
Ross had been the strongest love of her life. Now 
when she saw him waiting for her on the platform, 
his back slightly bowed, his hair much more grey 
than when Betty had last seen him only a few brief 
months ago, all her heart went out to him. Oh, 
there was no one like her father! She flung her 
arms round his neck, and, overcome by many emo- 
tions, burst into tears. 

‘Why, Betty!” said Mr. Ross, “this is not like 
you !” 

“I cry because I am glad,” she said, trying hard 
to suppress her sobs. “It seems such ages since I 
saw you last. Oh, dad, it is good to kiss you once 
again!” 

He kissed her eagerly and affectionately, then 
drew her into the light and looked at her face. It 
was the same sweet and beautiful face that the 
Rev. Michael Ross had missed — oh, so sorely! — 
when he gave her up to Geoffrey Pevensey. He 
was a thoroughly unselfish man, and would not have 
kept the child he loved best from what he believed 
to be her true happiness for all the world. But 
now he felt doubtful. Betty’s face was lovely still, 
but there was a new expression in it — an expression 
born of suffering: nothing else in all the world 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 193 


would have caused it. It was impossible that such 
a look could have grown into her eyes and formed 
delicate lines round her mouth, even though she had 
spent a few hours of anxiety with regard to little 
Eachel. 

Betty winced a little under her father’s fixed gaze. 
He had always read her heart. She did not want 
him to read it now. 

''Oh, dad, tell me,” she said, "how is Ray?” 

"Very ill indeed. It is double pneumonia.” 

"My little darling!” said Betty. 

"She knows you are coming, Betty. She is hun- 
gry for you. She is the best of sweet little patients.” 

"Then you really think, dad, that I can do her 
good?” 

"I am sure — I am certain of it,” said Mr. Ross. 
"We can walk back to the Rectory, Betty : it’s only 
a stone’s throw.” 

The Rector took Betty’s little bag in his other 
hand, and they started off. It was night now, but 
the village of Deepdale had its own gas, and the 
place seemed to Betty full of subdued brightness. 
The air felt so clean and fresh and invigorating 
after the smoke-laden air of Dartminster. 

"You look rather thin, my darling,” said her 
father. 

"I am all right, dad, really.” 


194 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“And how is Geoffrey?” 

“He is overworked, but, on the whole, well.” 

“Betty, you are not as happy — as — I expected — to 
find you.” 

“Don’t talk of it,” she said, tightening her clasp 
of his arm. 

“Is it Pevensey?” said the Rector, sternly. “Is 
it possible — is he — unkind to you?” 

“No — oh, no! He is an angel to me!” 

“Thank God!” said the Rector. Then he added: 
“You love him as much as ever?” 

“Better — ten thousand times better.” 

“You don’t regret that you have married him?” 

“Most truly I do not.” 

The Rector again heaved a sigh of relief. 

“I have missed you — ^very, very sorely,” he said. 
“My consolation was the thought of your happiness. 
You don’t look happy.” 

“I am — on the whole. There are some cares.” 

“You cannot tell me?” 

“No.” 

“Quite right : I won’t ask you.” 

“Father, I must go back very soon again. Geoff 
wants me.” 

“Not more than your little sister does at the pres- 
ent moment. Betty, I trust your husband is not 
selfish?” 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 195 


'‘He is the most unselfish man I know. Oh, 
father, don’t ask me ! I cannot explain what is the 
matter; only I ought to be by his side.” 

The Rector drew his daughter’s hand further 
through his arm. 

"My dear,” he said, "it is appointed unto all men 
to suffer, and you, I see, are no exception. It is our 
common lot. Well, you have pluck; and I don’t 
think that with your nature you will ever be desti- 
tute of hope. What you have told me is in one 
sense nothing; in another sense, all. You have a 
sorrow, my child ; but I will lay it before the Throne 
of Grace.” 

"Ah, do, do!” said Betty. "That will help me 
more than anything else in all the wide world.” 

They entered the beloved old rectory where 
Betty’s happy, careless childhood and early girlhood 
had been spent. The house was bright, and fresh, 
and orderly. 

Mrs. Ross came forward, her comely, good- 
natured face full of intense anxiety. She had always 
adored Betty, but she had not the Rev. Michael 
Ross’s penetration, and was too much absorbed by 
her own little Rachel to give her stepdaughter any 
special attention on the present occasion. 

"I am so thankful you have come,” she said. "I 
felt sure you would. Your father did not want me 


196 


BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


to telegraph, but how could I help it when the child 
did nothing but cry out for you? T want my own 
Betty — my own Betty!’ she has kept on saying all 
day. You will come to her, dear, as soon as you 
have had something to eat?” 

^T can come at once to the little darling,” said 
Betty. “My whole heart is with her, the sweet pet 
that she is.” 

“Oh, Betty!” said Mrs. Ross, “she really gets 
more beautiful every day : she is quite a lovely little 
creature : isn’t she, Michael ?” 

“Yes.” 

“What did the doctor say when he called last ?” 

“The fever is very high : her restlessness is terri- 
ble, and she will not take to her nurses. The doctor 
insists on two. I wish I could manage her all alone, 
but I am little or no use in a sick-room.” 

“Well, I am,” said Betty. “Oh, tea! — I am just 
pining for a cup. I will have some, mother, if you 
don’t mind, and then I’ll go up at once to Rachel.” 

Half an hour later Betty was ensconced in a chair 
by little Rachel’s cot. She had been moved since her 
illness into the largest room in the Rectory. The 
carpets had been taken up and most of the furni- 
ture removed. The little cot looked sadly desolate, 
standing as it did in the middle of the room. The 
poor baby who was fighting for her life was sup- 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 197 

ported high in bed with pillows. Her little cheeks 
were deeply flushed, her eyes intensely bright. 

When she saw Betty she gave a hoarse, glad cry, 
then buried her head on her sister’s shoulder. The 
relief of seeing this dearly-loved sister caused her 
to burst into tears. One of the nurses came for- 
ward, but Betty held up her hand with an authorita- 
tive gesture. 

'Xet me manage her, please. Come, Rachel, my 
own treasure, don’t cry any more. Betty will stay 
with you to-night.” 

The tears in some extraordinary way relieved the 
child, who lay pale and exhausted afterwards on her 
pillows, her eyes devouring Betty’s face, her little 
hot hand clasped in Betty’s. 

^'Oo not going from me!” whispered little Rachel. 

“I will stay with you to-night, Rachel.” 

“Then I’ll have a boo’ful night,” said the child, 
with the sweetest of smiles. 

The nurse put some nourishment between her 
parched lips, and a few moments later, with her 
hands still held in Betty’s, she dropped asleep. 

When the doctor came in, a little before midnight, 
he took the child’s temperature, and immediately 
uttered a sigh of satisfaction. He crossed the room 
and spoke in a whisper to the nurse. What he said 
was unheard by Betty, who did not dare to relin- 


198 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


quish her hold of the little hand. It was no longer 
burning hot, but wet with the dews of perspiration. 

The doctor left the room. He met Mr. Ross. 

“You may be thankful that your daughter, Mrs. 
Pevensey, has arrived. The disease has reached a 
climax, and already the temperature has gone down 
considerably. This sudden change is, of course, 
accompanied by the danger of relapse, but I am 
taking measures to ward that off. The child is in a 
sound and most refreshing sleep, and I shall, with 
your permission, stay in the house all night in order 
to be at hand should any fresh change occur.” 

Perhaps in some ways that night which Betty 
spent without moving, holding little Rachel’s hand, 
was one of the most trying of her whole life. She 
was deadly tired, for her work at Dartminster was 
by no means light. She had been up till past mid- 
night the night before, and again, she was never 
free from anxiety. The hurried journey, the min- 
gled pleasure and pain of coming back to the old 
home had further excited her and worn her out. 
She would not touch food, although the nurse 
brought her sandwiches. She felt sick and dizzy, 
and could not eat. While her whole loving heart 
was centred in the little child, whom she was surely 
but slowly bringing back from the shores of death, 
her thoughts flew to htr husband in the lonely rec- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 199 


tory at Hillside. Oh, would he be brave, or would 
he succumb to temptation? 

‘‘God help him!” murmured the poor girl. “Oh, 
if only I could cut myself in two! — if part of me 
could be with him, and part of me with little 
Rachel !” 

In the early, early hours of the morning little 
Rachel Ross awoke. The fever was gone : the crisis 
had been successfully combated, and, unless there 
was a sudden turn for the worse, the child's life 
would be saved. 

Betty, completely worn out, went to her own old 
room, where she lay down and slept heavily for long 
hours. It was between three and four in the after- 
noon when Mrs. Ross came in to awaken her. She 
brought a bowl of strong soup and some toast. 

“Come, Betty,” she said, “you are as white as a 
ghost. If you don't eat we’ll have two invalids on 
our hands. You’re a perfect angel, my darling. 
Dr. Stuart cannot be loud enough in your praise. 
He says that you have saved our precious darling's 
life.” 

“Oh, how is she? — how is little Rachel?” asked 
Betty, starting up from her pillow impulsively. 

She pushed back her hair. She had been dream- 
ing about her husband, and her dream had been the 
reverse of happy. 


200 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


^Ts Rachel better, mother?’’ 

“Better! — of course she is, dear. She has been 
sleeping most of the day — dear little one! She is 
taking her nourishment : the pneumonia is checked ; 
both lungs are beginning to clear, and the fever is 
quite gone. Do take your soup, Betty; you don’t 
look a bit well yourself.” 

“I am tired, I suppose,” said Betty. 

She began to eat the soup, while Mrs. Ross sat 
on the edge of the bed and watched her. 

“I don’t really think marriage suits you,” she said, 
after a pause, during which she watched her step- 
daughter anxiously. 

“It does, admirably,” said Betty. “But, mother 
— forgive me — if Ray is quite out of danger I ought 
to go back to Dartminster to-night.” 

“Nonsense, child! that is most unreasonable and 
impossible. You ought to stay with us for at least 
a week — in fact, until over Christmas. Your hus- 
band could surely manage to join us for Christmas.” 

“Now, mother, how can a clergyman be away 
from home at Christmas?” 

“I forgot. How stupid of me! Of course it is 
his busy time. Still, as to your going to-day, that 
is out of the question. Your father would be fear- 
fully annoyed.” 


BETTY OE THE EECTOBY 


201 


‘‘Will you send father to me?” said Betty sud- 
denly. 

“Of course I will, love — in fact, he is waiting 
now outside the door, just dying to be with you. It 
would break his heart if you left him so soon.” 

“Send him to me, mother darling — and quickly, 
please.” 

A minute later the Rector entered the room. 

“Kneel down by me, father,” said Betty. 

He did so. 

“Oh, how much I love you!” she said, and she 
twined her arms round his neck. 

“It is a joy to have you back: and what a debt 
we owe you, my child — the life of the dear little 
one!” 

“Father, darling, never mind that now. I am so 
truly glad I came, but you, at least, won’t oppose 
me.” 

“Have I ever done so, Betty?” 

“Indeed — indeed, no! You have been the best of 
all possible fathers. But you know — you must 
know — that when a woman marries she gives up 
father and mother and cleaves to her husband. I 
want you to look up a train. I want to go back to 
Geoffrey to-night.” 

“My dear, dear Betty ! You ask for the impossi- 
ble.” 


m BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“No, no, I don’t. I told you yesterday that I had 
a care. No one in all the world wants me as Geof- 
frey does. It was with difficulty that I could bring 
myself to leave him, even to be with little Ray. 
Rachel’s life is spared now, and I must go back. 
Help me, dad — help me. Don’t make things harder 
for me.” 

“I won’t, my poor child. You must do as you 
think right. I will get a time-table and let you 
know the trains.” 

The Rector went out of the room, and Betty sank 
back on her pillows with a sigh of relief. She had 
put her case into her father’s hands, and whatever 
the Rev. Michael Ross wished was invariably done. 
He managed her stepmother, he managed everyone, 
and she had seen little Rachel, who, sleeping and 
weak, was not half so excited about her as she was 
on the previous day. She had said good-bye to her 
stepmother and father, and was back again on her 
road to Dartminster before six o’clock that evening. 
She would get to Dartminster at midnight. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Th^r^ was a great deal of parochial disturbance 
just then in the large parish over which Geoffrey 
Pevensey had been appointed rector. One curate 
was ill, and obliged to stop work for a time; the 
other curates were objectionable to several members 
of the flock; another accident, although not of a 
very serious nature, had occurred amongst the mill 
hands ; the choirmaster was not conducting the choir 
properly: in short, many of those small entangle- 
ments happened which fill up certain days of life 
when one is obliged to confess that everything from 
morning till night goes wrong. 

It was on one of these days that Betty Pevensey 
left her home to visit her little sister, and it was 
consequently on this special day that her husband 
most sorely needed her. He was the sort of man 
who would fling himself heart and soul into his 
work, and he was also the sort of man who keenly 
felt any sense of failure. He had, in short, to bear 
rubs of every description all day long. 

The day was one of the worst of the season, a 
thick, sulphurous fog filling the air, while the ground 
m 


204 BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 


was frozen under foot. When Pevensey at long 
last let himself into his own house, he breathed a 
sigh of relief, and already his tired mind was filled 
with a picture of what would be awaiting him. 

Betty was very careful with regard to external 
things. Whatever the Rector had to encounter out- 
side the Rectory, there was always brightness and 
beauty, and at least outward peace, at home. The 
drawing-room, with its cheerful fire and carefully- 
brushed grate, the electric light softly shaded by 
gold-colored silk shades. The house itself was 
warm and bright, for Betty never held with allowing 
people to get ill owing to cold rooms and passages ; 
and there was Helen, the neat parlor maid, with her 
charming manners and quiet way, her devotion both 
to Pevensey and his wife; and above all, Betty her- 
self — Betty, in her simple evening frock — she 
always would dress for dinner, except on the few 
days when she accompanied her husband to a 
church service or a parochial entertainment — Betty, 
with a flush of health, or excitement, or happiness 
on her round young cheeks, and a wonderful glow 
of love in her brown eyes; Betty, who always ran 
into the hall to meet Geoffrey, who herself removed 
his hat and coat, and went upstairs with him while 
he dressed for dinner. 

Ah, well, the painful day was over. He need not 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 205 

go out again that night ; and home was home. He 
entered the hall. Helen was standing there. 

Oh, sir!” she said. ‘‘What a dreadful night! 
Let me take your coat, please, sir. I do hope you 
have not caught cold.” 

“No, Helen,” replied Pevensey; “but it has been 
a horrible day. Where is your mistress?” 

“Mistress gave me a note to give you, sir. She 
has had bad news.” 

“Bad what?” exclaimed the Rector. 

“It’s in the note, sir. She’ll be back as soon as 
possible.” 

“Your mistress not at home?” 

“No, sir. She left between one and two o’clock 
to-day. You’ll find all about it in her letter.” 

The Rector tore open the letter, read the telegram 
and Betty’s few words. He then folded it up and 
slipped it into his breast-pocket and, without com- 
ment, went slowly and wearily upstairs. 

The house was in itself quite as comfortable as 
usual, but somehow it felt cheerless, almost as 
though it were a dead-house to the hired man. He 
entered the beautiful bedroom; the fire was burning 
merrily. He passed on into his dressing-room; a 
fire was there also. His shaving materials were laid 
out ready, and his evening suit was put out for him. 
Helen had done this. 


206 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


He stood stock-still, glancing now at the fire, and 
now round the pretty cheerful room. Traces every- 
where of his wife’s handiwork; traces everywhere 
of her sweet spirit — ^her true and devoted love. 
Poor darling; what a trial for her! He ought to 
follow her. She did so passionately love little 
Rachel. 

‘T wish I could go, too,” he thought. ‘Tt would 
be best, far best; and yet I daren’t, with Stanhope 
laid up, and Philcox and Emerson so disagreeable. 
It is impossible to leave the parish in their charge. 
Then I am to have an interview at ten to-morrow 
morning with Atkins. If he doesn’t manage the 
choir better I must really get another organist. No, 
I cannot leave, and yet — poor Betty! poor Betty!” 

The Rector did not put on evening dress. He 
went down again and entered the drawing-room. 
The room was bright and cheerful. All things pos- 
sible was arranged for his comfort. A new book 
lay invitingly near his favorite chair. But the 
absence of Betty made the place intolerable to him. 
He rang the bell and desired dinner to be served. 
He hated to think that at the present moment, just 
when his wife needed him most, he was an enforced 
prisoner in his own parish. It was all very well to 
attend to the poor and to undertake parochial duties, 
but the absent wife came first of all, and his wife — 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 207 


his young, sweet, beautiful wife — needed him: he 
felt sure of it. 

During dinner he ate very little, but took two 
glasses of port wine. Then he went away to his 
library. In this room alone the fire was unlighted. 
He rang for Helen. 

‘T shall sit up for a little to-night, Helen, and 
shall not require the drawing-room. Please light 
the fire here.” 

*^Oh, sir, I did hope that you’d go to bed early. 
You look so worn out, and I am sure missis would 
wish it.” 

“Light the fire, Helen: I have things to attend 
to,” said Pevensey. 

He had scarcely said the words before there came 
a ring to the front door. Helen went to answer it, 
and returned in a few minutes to say that a man of 
the name of Richards from Plarding’s cotton-mill 
wished to speak to the Rector without delay. 

“Show him in,” said Pevensey, with a sigh. ' 

A tall, gaunt-looking man appeared a moment 
later at the study door. 

“Come in, Richards,” said Pevensey. “What 
can I do for you, my man?” 

“It’s our girl Hilda, sir. I am sorry to trouble 
your reverence, but the poor wife’s in an awful 
taking.” 


208 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“What’s the matter with Hilda?” asked the Rec- 
tor. 

He had a very good memory for the different peo- 
ple in his large parish, and recalled Hilda Richards 
as a remarkably handsome, upright, fine-looking 
girl of about seventeen years of age. 

“I saw Hilda last week,” he said. “She was very 
well. I spoke to her about going into service; it 
seems a pity that she shouldn’t help you and your 
wife. But what is wrong? — tell me. Take a chair. 
You seem troubled.” 

“She’s gone, sir; that’s about it.” 

“Gone! What do you mean?” 

“Run away, sir, with young Mr. Ransom — the 
brute! the scoundrel! Her mother’s near mad.” 

By slow degrees Pevensey got the story out of 
Richards. Hilda was always contrary. Mr. Ran- 
som was a young partner in Ransom’s mills — the 
largest mills in Dartminster. He was well known 
for his shady character, and no girl in Hilda’s sta- 
tion might expect mercy at his hands. 

“If I have the luck to see him, he won’t have 
much chance of his life — the scoundrel — the worse 
than scoundrel that he be!” said Richards. 

“We must do what we can,” said Pevensey. 
“When did you find this out?” 

“It was to-day she run away. We’ve thought 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 209 


her queer for a time past — flighty in herself, and 
taken up with fine clothes, and often slipping out at 
night unbeknown to the mother and me. She left 
a letter, saying the usual lie — that he meant to 
marry her, and that she was all right, and would 
come back to us a lady. The mother’s heart is cut 
to bits, your reverence — she who always held her 
head high. Wc never had a disgrace of this sort in 
our family before.” 

‘T will call round and see her with you now at 
once, Richards. I am sincerely sorry for you,” said 
the Rector. 

A minute or two later the two men went out 
together. The fog was denser than ever, and the 
air more acrid. Pevensey did not return home until 
eleven o’clock. During that time he did all that 
man could do for the stricken family, and further 
promised that he would call on Mr. Ransom — the 
head of the firm, and father of the young man — on 
the following morning, and see what possible 
arrangements could be made for the unhappy girl. 

“He’ll do naught — naught,” said Richards: “less 
than naught! He’s as ’ard as iron.” 

Meanwhile the mother moaned and sobbed in- 
cessantly. She did not speak against anyone, only 
murmured at long intervals : “My gel I my poor gel ! 
My wench ! my poor wench !” 


210 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY, 


This occurrence was altogether the final straw 
for poor Pevensey’s overwrought nerves, and he 
returned to the Rectory in a state of depression 
which was almost unbearable. Oh, how soothing, 
how delicious, how sustaining that sedative would 
be ! He knew exactly how he would feel if he took 
some of those tabloids once again. The fever and 
misery and unrest would be lifted. In its place 
would come a delicious sense of peace and well- 
being. His troubles would be removed from him 
to an incalculable distance — put away altogether, for 
the time being. He would sleep : he would not even 
miss Betty. He would awake the next day refreshed 
and ready once more for the duties which lay before 
him. More complex now than ever were they with 
this terrible case of Hilda Richards to attend to. 

On his way home the Rector passed the chemist’s 
shop where those special tabloids could be made up 
which Sir Preston Dykes had implored of him never 
to take again. He passed the shop very quickly, but 
after having gone a dozen yards, he paused. 

“There are moments in life,” he said to himself, 
“when a man must take the nearest means of succor 
or he perishes. With my family history ever before 
me, with Betty away, with this agony of mind, with 
this appalling depression, I dare not trust myself 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


' 211 ' 


to-night unless I have something at hand to give me 
succor in case of need. I will get just a few of the 
tabloids made up.” 

A moment later he had rung up the chemist, who 
was just retiring for the night. The man knew the 
Rector well, and came down at once. Pevensey 
asked for a supply of the medicine. The chemist 
made it up without remark; but as he handed it 
across the counter to the Rev. Geoffrey Pevensey, 
he said : 

“It’s a very strong dose, sir.” 

“I know,” said Pevensey, “I know; thank you 
very much.” 

“You will forgive me, sir ” 

“I cannot talk to you to-night,” said Pevensey. 

The man looked at him reproachfully and with a 
sort of terrified warning in his expression. But 
Pevensey could not discuss his own most private 
affairs with the chemist. He put the precious- little 
bottle into his pocket, and immediately felt a sense 
of soothing. At the worst, he had his weapon at 
hand. At the worst, he could cut the Gordian knot 
and give to himself peace — and rest. 

“No doctor in all the world knows a man as he 
knows himself,” thought Pevensey. 

He entered the house. Helen was up, and wait- 
ing for him. 


212 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


‘'Oh, Helen,’’ said the Rector, "you ought not to 
do this; you ought to be in bed.” 

"It’s nothing, sir,” said the girl, looking at her 
master affectionately. "I know missis would wish 
it. I’ve made some hot cocoa for you, sir. I’ll 
bring you a cup into the drawing-room immedi- 
ately.” 

"Thank you, Helen ; you are very kind ; but please 
bring it to me in the study : I do not care to sit in 
the drawing-room when your mistress is away.” 

"Oh, sir, and I am not surprised,” said the girl. 

She hurried off, and soon came back with a large 
steaming cup of delicious cocoa and a plate of sand- 
wiches. 

"You will go to bed, won’t you, sir? You will 
forgive me for saying it, but I know my missis will 
be thinking of you, and she trusted to all of us to 
look after you.” 

"You are a good girl, Helen, very, and I will go 
to bed presently.” 


CHAPTER XV 


Betty sent no telegram to announce her return. 
She just caught a train at the junction, and leaned 
back in a corner of her carriage with a mingled feel- 
ing of fear and rejoicing. How glad Geoffrey 
would be to see her! and after all, she had only 
been away from him for one night. She felt very, 
very tired. She thought how sweetly she would 
sleep that night, how restful it would be to hold her 
husband’s hand in her own, and drop off into the 
land of slumber with him by her side. 

She arrived at Dartminster exactly at midnight, 
and took a cab to Hillside Rectory. The whole 
house was in darkness, with the exception of a faint 
light in the hall, and also a light which only showed 
dimly through the curtain and blinds of the study 
windows. 

“He is up. Oh, how glad he will be!” thought 
the girl. 

She tried to force herself to put fear aside; but 
fear was hammering at her heart. She sprang from 
the cab, paid the man, put her little bag on the 
doorstep, and rang the bell. She expected Geoffrey 
213 


214 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


instantly to rouse himself from whatever work was 
employing him in the study, and to hasten to answer 
her summons. She smiled a little, for she thought 
that he would know her ring. He used to remark 
on it sometimes and tell her that it was impetuous 
and determined, without being in the least bold or 
imperative. In short, it was characteristic of Betty. 

But there was no sound of anyone coming, and 
after a time the smile faded from her lips, and the 
sense of fear grew keener in her heart. She rang 
again. 

The Rectory stood in its own grounds, a little out 
of the town, and there was no possibility of anyone 
in a neighboring house hearing. Betty rang and 
rang. Still there was that light in the study win- 
dows, very, very faint, and that faint light in the 
hall, and the rest of the old house shrouded in dark- 
ness. There was no fog to-night, but the air was 
murky, and heavy drops of rain soon began to fall. 

The girl finally made up her mind to go outside 
the study window and throw gravel against the 
pane. She did so, but there was no response. She 
called aloud: “Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Geoffrey!’^ No 
answer of any sort. Fear had now taken complete 
possession of her. She could not possibly stay in 
the porch of the Rectory all night. She blamed 
herself severely for not having sent a telegram to 


BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 215 


announce her return. But surely she must find some 
means of getting into the house. Once again she 
rang, employing the knocker also, and knocking 
very loudly. Now, at long, long last, there came 
a response. A head was thrust out of an upper win- 
dow, and Helen’s voice called: ^‘Who’s there?” 

‘T have come home, Helen,” her mistress called 
back. ‘‘Let me in at once, will you?” 

Helen disappeared. Betty leaned against one of 
the pillars of the porch. Presently Helen in her 
dressing-*gown flung open the door, her face pale, 
her eyes full of anxiety. 

“Oh, dear, darling mistress!” she said. “How 
long have you been here?” 

“A good long time, Helen.” 

“I never heard you: did you ring often?” 

“Yes : very often.” 

“Master’s in his study,” said Helen: “I wonder 
he didn’t hear.” 

Betty immediately put herself on the defensive. 
It had been her great object ever since her marriage 
to conceal any weakness on the part of her husband 
both from her servants and parishioners. She 
assumed at once an almost cheerful manner. 

“I expect the Rector is tired and has dropped 
asleep,” she said. '1 will go and see him. Go to 
bed, Helen, will you?’' 


216 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


“But — dear madam, you must have something to 
eat” 

“No ; I had a meal at Stockton, I am not the least 
hungry. Go to bed, please. I am sorry to have had 
to disturb you.” 

There was never any gainsaying Betty when she 
wished to be obeyed, and Helen went off dolefully. 
When her figure had disappeared up the stairs, and 
was quite lost to view, Betty stood still in her long 
grey travelling cloak. She clasped her slight hands 
together and for a minute raised her eyes* upwards. 

“God help me! God help him!” she thought; 
and then she went towards the study. She trod 
softly. To reach the study it was necessary to walk 
down a long passage. The room faced towards the 
side of the Rectory. There was a gravel path run- 
ning round the entire house, and the two windows 
of the study came down to the floor. In the sum- 
mer time they were mostly open, so that one could 
step straight through to the gravel path and then to 
the lawn beyond. Betty’s dread now was that the 
door would be locked. To her relief, however, she 
found that it was only shut. She turned the handle 
and went in. All the electric light was turned out 
except one burner, and that was in a distant part of 
the room. The fire in the grate was nearly out. 

On a sofa lay the Rector. He was lying on his 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 217 

right "side, one hand and arm stretched out, almost 
reaching the floor, the other hand holding a little 
bottle which contained white tabloids, 

Betty knew at a glance what had happened. The 
worst had befallen her. She removed her cloak and 
her travelling hat. She then knelt down by the fire, 
and very carefully built it up, for the night was a 
bitter one. After doing this, she took a rug which 
lay near and covered her husband with it. She 
gently removed the bottle of tabloids from his hand. 
She could not tell how many he had taken, but she 
saw that the bottle was half empty. He was sleep- 
ing the heavy sleep of the drugged. His breathing 
was stertorous: his usually pale face was slightly 
flushed. She knew well that it would be useless to 
waken him, but the expression on his face caused her 
the utmost terror and alarm, for in that fearful, 
drugged sleep something very awful had happened 
to the Rector of Dartminster. A sort of mask, 
which at ordinary times hid the baser part of his 
nature, seemed to be withdrawn, and that which 
was low, and weak, and poor, and sensual was 
revealed. 

Betty turned shudderingly away. Then she said 
to herself : “But he is my husband — he is my hus- 
band, and I will help him.’’ 

She sat very still by his side for some time. There 


218 BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 

was nothing to be done. He need not be awakened 
at present. He must sleep his sleep out. She felt 
his hands; they were cold. She touched his feet; 
they were icy. She left the room and came back 
with hot-water bags, which she applied to his feet 
and hands. She touched his cold, damp forehead, 
and swept the hair back from it. Was this the man 
she loved? The man she had promised to honor 
and obey for all her life? Could she honor him? 
Her feeling at this moment that she could not was 
one of the most awful that she had ever endured. 
Hitherto she had known — or at least she had known 
for some time — that he was addicted to the worst 
form of the drug habit, and that there was an awful 
hereditary disease which this habit alone would 
undoubtedly cause to assail him. But this was the 
first time she had seen him under the influence of 
the medicine. It was as though an angel had fallen 
from heaven. Not for worlds would she leave him. 
Not for worlds, either, would she look into his face. 

She was dead tired, weary, beyond words. But 
she sat close to his sofa with her back to him staring 
out into the room. All her life seemed now spread 
before her, and all her life seemed hopeless. He 
had been so brave, and had struggled so long and 
so well: but now — he had fallen! She had done 
wrong to leave him. She had done wrong to go 


BETTY OF THE BEOTOBY 21D 


and see little Rachel. Even the child’s life was 
nothing at all in comparison with her husband’s 
downfall. Yes: he had fallen. She remembered 
him as he had looked in the pulpit — as she had seen 
him only the Sunday before, with his voice up- 
raised and his eyes full of fire, and his ringing 
words in which he warned sinners to repent. “Now 
is the axe laid to the root of the tree,” was the text; 
and how fervently had he described the despair of 
those who did not repent, and how thrillingly he had 
depicted the words of the great Husbandman when 
He said: “Cpt it down; why cumbereth it the 
ground.” 

Ah, yes! Geoffrey Pevensey was a great man 
then — an apostle of light : but now I 

The poor girl crouched down and covered her 
face with her trembling hands. The night wore on. 
Hour after hour struck. The drugged man never 
moved. 

It was about four o’clock in the morning when 
Betty became alarmed about him. Up to this time 
she could only think of his trouble; and though 
shocked at the repulsive spectacle before her, yet 
through it all she could not cease to love him. But 
now, symptoms arose which frightened her. Sup- 
pose he had taken too much! His breathing was 
not only stertorous, but it came in gasps, with long 


^20 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


and ominous pauses between. What was she to 
do ? She did not hesitate. She was not the woman 
to hesitate, neither would sh^disturb the household. 

She hastily put on her cloak and hat, and letting 
herself out, ran to the nearest doctor. 

There was a certain Dr. Spurgeon who had called 
once or twice to see the servants. Betty had never 
been ill herself since her arrival at Hillside Rectory, 
but she had liked this young man^s appearance. And 
there was no time to lose: she must get someone. 
He was close at hand, which was one thing to be 
considered. 

She rang the young doctor up and brought him 
back with her to the Rectory. 

“What is wrong?” he asked, as they almost flew 
over the ground. 

‘T cannot conceal the truth from you,” said Betty. 
“My husband has from time to time suffered from 
acute attacks of nervous depression, and has had 
recourse to a certain drug — I don’t know its name. 
I was obliged to be away owing to the illness of my 
little sister, and^when I came back last night I found 
him in a very heavy sleep. I don’t like his breath- 
ing. Ah, here we are ! You will soon find out.” 

Dr. Spurgeon was quick and prompt. He saw at 
a glance what had happened, and, with Betty’s help, 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY m 


applied vigorous remedies. In a short time Peven- 
sey opened his eyes and sat up with a dazed look. 

^‘Now, that is allf.., right,” said Dr. Spurgeon. 
“You must not do that sort of thing again. If your 
wife had not come to fetch me, you would have had 
an attack of convulsions in another hour, and then 
would have died. Come, how many of those 
globules did you take?” 

Pevensey murmured almost incoherently that he 
did not know. 

“Enough to poison a man who was not habituated 
to them, at any rate,” said the doctor. “No, you are 
not to lie down and go to sleep again. Come : you 
will walk up and down with me in the study. Please 
leave me, Mrs. Pevensey; your husband’s life is 
quite safe now, and I should like to talk with him 
alone.” 

Betty went from the room. She did not dare to 
meet the dumb protest and appeal in Pevensey’s 
eyes. 

“Lean on me,” said Spurgeon. “When you come 
a little more to your senses you will know what a 
mad thing you have done.” 

“I know it now,” said the victim. 

“What possessed you?” 

“Torture of mind that you cannot conceive.” 

“Yes, I can : I have gone through it. Half the 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


men you meet have — and half the women, too, for 
that matter. But they’re plucky — bless ’em !” 

Pevensey shivered slightly. 

‘‘All your senses are numbed. Do you know 
what you have taken?” 

“Quite well.” 

“It is one of the most harmful preparations that 
modern science has invented,” continued Spurgeon. 
“Did no one ever warn you against it?” 

“Yes: Sir Preston Dykes told me just what 
would occur if I took any more of it.” 

“Then you are a slave to the habit?” 

“I took the drug in moderation until I saw Sir 
Preston Dykes. After that I never touched it until 
two nights ago. My wife was away, and I was in 
torture. I took some, and it enabled me to pull 
through yesterday. What a day — what a day of 
horror ! I was too weak last night to resist it, and I 
took — oh, a handful of the things !” 

“You must never take it again.” 

“I dare not promise you, Spurgeon. There is a 
fiend within me stronger than I.” 

“You are a clergyman,” said the doctor; “you 
believe in God Almighty?” 

“I believe in the devil.” 

“Well, well, I don’t want to enter on theological 
questions; but you have got to overcome this and 


BETTY OF THE KECTORY 223 


fight it — tooth and nail. Why, a man with such a 
wife — you ought to do that much.’’ 

‘T wish it were lawful for you to put me out of 
the world,” said the miserable man. 

''Well, it is not, you know : and you’d be a rank 
coward to want to go: you’re young, and strong, 
and have untold blessings. If I had a wife like 
that ” 

"You’re not married, Spurgeon?” 

"No, thank God ! for if I could think it were pos- 
sible under any circumstances to bring such agony 
on my wife, I’d rather never have been born. Well, 
I don’t want to rub it in, but you have got to give the 
thing up, Pevensey.” 

"Is there any way you can help me?” 

"I can give you tonics, and come and see you now 
and then. Now, go up to your wife. You are com- 
ing round rapidly, and all danger is past ; but remem- 
ber that you owe your life to her.” 

As Spurgeon was leaving the room, Pevensey 
went after him and took his hand. 

"You don’t know my temptation,” he said: "you 
can never understand.” 

"I can: you are no worse than others. Why, 
look here: I suppose the saddest thing on earth is 
the dread of insanity. No man with your sort of 
appearance need fear that; but even with that in 


224 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


view, you have no right to deliberately bring on 
brain disease as you are doing. Now, I must go. 
I will look in this evening.” 

Spurgeon went away, and Pevensey slowly and 
thoughtfully paced up and down the room. He was 
still so much under the influence of the drug that 
his worst pains were quieted. But he felt a horror 
of meeting Betty. The doctor had told him to go 
to his wife, but he felt he could not do so. 

Suddenly the door was opened, and a young, 
fresh girl, spotlessly neat, wearing a pretty frock 
of light blue, entered the room with an appetizing 
breakfast. 

‘T prepared this for you, darling,” said Betty. 
‘‘Sit down and eat it. We won’t talk about anything 
painful. Why should we? Your own Betty under- 
stands. I blame myself, my darling, for I had no 
right to leave you.” 

“Oh, Betty, you are an angel : you are too good 
for me,” said the poor fellow, and he suddenly burst 
into intolerable weeping. 


CHAPTER XVI 


It took Pevensey a week to recover himself. Dur- 
ing that time Dr. Spurgeon did him much good, but 
he could not get himself to confide his family his- 
tory to the doctor. Once Spurgeon said to Betty : 

'^There must be some hidden cause for this. Your 
husband has a splendid physique, and is also pos- 
sessed of a noble and particularly upright mind ; but 
there is something undermining him. I wish you 
could tell me.’^ 

“You are right,^’ said Betty, in a low tone : “there 
is something, and it is very terrible, and I can never 
tell you.” 

“Then how can you expect me to help you?” 

“As you have done, but only in the dark.” 

“I will do my best. To be frank with you, Mrs. 
Pevensey, your husband is going through tortures. 
He is oppressed by a secret dread. If that could be 
removed, he would no more need to use drugs than 
either you or I.” 

“I am certain of it,” said Betty. After a pause, 
she added: “Do you happen to know Mr. ^cDer- 
mot, the great London surgeon ?” 

225 


226 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“By name, of course,” said Spurgeon. “What a 
splendid man he is ! But I have never had the pleas- 
ure of meeting him.” 

“I hope. Dr. Spurgeon, you will have that pleas- 
ure in this house, for he is coming to us in three 
days’ time. He invited himself to our rectory, and 
I think it is because he is interested in my husband. 
Although he is a surgeon, not a physician, he has 
studied medicines exhaustively.” 

“Of course,” said Spurgeon; “an all-round man, 
not a doubt of it : I should be indeed proud to meet 
him.” 

“My husband has the greatest possible dislike to 
the feeling that he is watched,” said Betty. 

“That is quite natural,” replied Spurgeon. “All 
people have who are addicted to the drug habit. 
Well, Mrs. Pevensey, your husband is much better 
now ; and I have done a bold thing. I have been to 
see his chemist, and told the man that he had better 
cut that prescription out of his book. By that means 
we effectually cut off the supply. We cannot pre- 
vent your husband getting similar tabloids made up 
elsewhere, but these special ones he can never obtain 
again. I took away that bottle with me the morning 
when I first came to see him. PI is mind must be 
diverted as much as possible. The heavy work of a 
great place like this is really more than he can stand. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 227 


I wish you could change to a country rectory, where 
he would have fewer parishioners and live more in 
God’s sunshine.” 

"‘Oh,” said Betty, “but we don’t want a smooth 
life. We both of us want to be fighters. We want 
to help : we want to be in the thick of the battle.” 

“That’s all very fine, Mrs. Pevensey, and your 
sentiments are noble ; but the man who fights ought 
to be whole both in body and spirit, and Pevensey 
is at the present moment in a state of nervous col- 
lapse. Well, we have got him over this present diffi- 
culty, and I hope much from Mr. McDermot’s 
visit.” 

Miss Spring made active preparations. She over- 
hauled her wardrobe; she removed osprey plumes 
from more than one fashionable headdress. She 
burnt these beautiful ornaments with ostentation 
and to the intense grief of Eugenie. She further 
examined her dresses. They must be neat, plain, 
and becoming. She studied her face in the glass. 
She studied it against several colors — ^brown, dove 
color, deep rich red, and different shades of blue. 
She believed that the Professor was the sort of man 
who would not notice dress unless it was peculiar 
and unbecoming, in which case he would make plain 
and disagreeable remarks about it,' 


223 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


Eugenie was distracted about her mistress dur- 
ing these days. She was so untidy, so unlike herself, 
and once or twice she made remarks which alarmed 
Eugenie. Was it possible that this ancient lady was 
seriously contemplating matrimony? 

Miss Spring decided, after many reflections, not 
to take Eugenie with her to the Rectory. This final 
resolve filled the maid with resentment. Why was 
not she to go? It was surely not convenable to her 
lady’s exalted rank and riches to travel without a 
maid. 

*'Chere mademoiselle will not spare her Eugenie 
who so well understand to make her elegante, who 
geev herself dee pain to arrenge dee transforma- 
tions dat day fall not, and garnish dee toque and hat 
so chic 

But Miss Spring was firm. Truth to tell, she was 
a little afraid of Eugenie, and wanted the auspicious 
visit to pass off without the watchful eyes of the 
Frenchwoman being fixed upon her face; for there 
was hidden mirth sometimes in those black eyes, and 
on more than one occasion, when Eugenie was 
arranging her coiffure for the evening, and assuring 
her beloved mistress that she did not look thirty 
years of age. Miss Spring had caught a look of 
malice in the sharp black eyes, which the maid little 
guessed that she noticed. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 229 


Eugenie should stay behind. Miss Spring would 
manage during the two days she spent at Hillside 
Eectory without her assistance. 

'T cannot take you,” she said. ‘Tt would not be 
fair to young Mrs. Pevensey. She says the house 
is large, but I am quite convinced that she has no 
room for you, and I can manage alone. You will 
pack my most suitable dresses, Eugenie; but every- 
thing must be very quiet, please: remember that I 
am going to a rectory.” 

“Mais — quel dommage !” cried Eugenie, “dat 
mademoiselle wear not her beautiful robes!” 

Finding, however, that Miss Spring was resolved, 
Eugenie began to look on the bright side, and to con- 
sider what an excellent time she might have while 
the proverbial ‘‘cat” was away. The maid had, on 
more than one occasion, attired herself for an even- 
ing festivity — a great ball, for instance — in one of 
her mistress’s gowns. She would go to a ball each 
evening of Miss Spring’s absence. The rose-colored 
dress with the rainbow sequin trimimng would be- 
come the dark-eyed, dark-complexioned French- 
woman. It would not add to her years — she was 
still in the early twenties — whereas it destroyed all 
semblance of good looks on the part of Miss Spring 
when she wore it. 

The question of dress being settled. Miss Spring 


230 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


now turned her attention to Professor Power. She 
wondered by what train he would go to Dartminster. 
She determined to find this out, and boldly ask him 
to accompany her. Accordingly she wrote to him. 
Her paper was naturally headed with her address, 
and also slightly scented. Miss Spring wrote as 
follows : 

“Dear ProEESSOR: — I like to dub myself when 
I think of you as the Xady with the Aigrette.’ You 
will never forget, will you, how you converted a 
thoughtless but sympathetic nature by one powerful 
and magnificent stroke of genius. It has been 
arranged by my dear young friends, the Pevenseys, 
that I go to stay with them on Wednesday next, the 
day after Boxing-Day; and they happened to men- 
tion that you are also to be one of their guests. 

“I should greatly like to travel to Dartminster 
in your company, if you have no objection to my 
presence. If you have, it would be easy for you to 
express that dissatisfaction by a courteous letter; 
but if I do not hear, I will conclude that you are 
going to Dartminster by the train which leaves Pad- 
dington at 1 :30. I shall meet you on the platform. 
You go on a mission to these dear young people : so 
do I also go on a mission. 

“Dear Professor, congratulate yourself on having 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


231 


won a convert. How magnificent that Society for 
the Suppression of Cruelty to the Bird Creation is ! 

‘‘Yours sincerely, 

“Carolina Spring.” 

It so happened that this letter, amongst a pile of 
others, arrived at Mr. Power's house on the follow- 
ing morning. It was scented, and had an elaborate 
crest on the flap of the envelope. He took it up, and 
flung it down again. Other letters absorbed his 
attention; and when Miss Hughes arrived on the 
scene. Miss Spring’s epistle had not yet been opened. 

“Will you see to these letters ?” said the Professor, 
handing a pile to his secretary. “Open them ; answer 
any that you think necessary to answer, destroy 
those that don’t require attention, and speak to me 
after lunch about the one or two which are of 
greater importance.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Miss Hughes. 

“I shall be exceedingly busy all morning, Miss 
Hughes, so pray do not speak to me. If I require 
you, I will address you. Go to your typewriter and 
get the correspondence through.” 

The secretary moved noiselessly across the room. 
She was excited at the thought of her visit to Betty. 
She had only seen her once, but that did not matter 
at all. It was years — long years — since anyone had 


m BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


looked into her eyes with the affectionate interest 
which Betty had shown; and it was years — long 
years — since a kindly, gentle, refined voice — the 
voice of a young woman, a lady in every sense of the 
word — had addressed her. 

Miss Hughes was one of those lonely people who 
make few friends. She was intensely reserved, 
intensely proud, and exceedingly poor. Her poverty 
obliged her to earn her living. She had been fortu- 
nate in meeting Professor Power. She had got into 
his ways, and he had got into hers. She was unob- 
trusive, obliging, diligent, and, to a certain extent, 
clever. Nothing would induce him to change her 
for anyone else, and she certainly contemplated 
holding her present position for long years. 

She did not at all think that she loved the Profes- 
sor. She would have considered it very indelicate 
to love any man who had not proposed to her. She 
belonged to an old-fashioned school, and had a holy 
hatred of the women of the present day who made 
bold advances towards the men they met. 

On that happy and wonderful day when Betty, 
Laura and Miss Spring had visited the Professor in 
his study, poor Miss Hughes had gone through 
despair and rapture; for if Betty had been kind to 
her. Miss Spring had hurt her holiest feelings. She 
was thoroughly ashamed of Miss Spring — her push- 


BETTY OE THE BECTOHY 233 


ing ways, her innuendoes, her hints. With a 
woman’s shrewdness she guessed at once what the 
lady meant. It was quite true that Professor Power 
never for an instant thought of matrimony : but he 
might be hoodwinked, beguiled, entrapped. Were 
such a terrible thing to occur. Miss Hughes knew 
well that she should instantly lose her post. In con- 
sequence, her feelings towards Miss Spring were the 
reverse of amiable. The poor lady hated herself for 
feeling unkind towards anyone, but she could not 
banish the strong jealousy which Miss Spring had 
awakened in her heart. 

On the present occasion it was Miss Hughes’ lot 
to open that pretty confiding letter which the artless 
lady had written to Professor Power. It could not 
possibly have fallen into more unsympathetic hands. 
Miss Hughes read it with heightening color. Her 
heart beat fast. She was consumed both by jealousy 
and anger. 

“The odious thing! the horror!” thought poor 
Miss Plughes. “She’s as old as ever she can be, and 
yet she pretends that she is young. She is a dread- 
ful, designing woman.” 

Again Miss Hughes read the letter. Quite a 
becoming color came into her faded cheeks, and her 
eyes were very bfight. 

“Miss Hughes!” called the Professor, 


234 BETTY OE THE RECTOBY 


^‘Yes, sir.” 

Miss Hughes started to her feet. 

'‘Have you read my correspondence?” 

"Not all of it yet, sir.” 

"Well, burn anything that does not require an 
answer. Be quick, for I find myself in a mood to 
dictate to you this morning.” 

Miss Hughes never felt herself so proud as when 
the Professor, pacing slowly up and down the room, 
his hands clasped before him, his head bent a little 
forward, his eyes fixed on the ground, gave forth 
rapid utterances. She never questioned him. She 
always took down his speeches correctly. She was 
excited at these times. These moments were to her 
as the wine of life. No one else could do what she 
did. 

"I will be very quick indeed, Mr. Power,” she 
said. 

She snatched up Miss Spring’s letter, and tearing 
it into fragments took it with several others which 
had shared a similar fate and consigned it to the 
flames. Soon afterwards, the Professor was in the 
throes of a most elaborate and deep composition. 
He was dictating one of those celebrated articles 
which were to add still further to his fame as one 
of the greatest philosophic thinker^ of the day. Miss 
Hughes rose to the occasion. As to Power, he for^ 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 236 


got his secretary. She was a very useful machine. 
He was absorbed in his own great thoughts. 

When he came to himself again, and, as it were, 
closed the flood-gates of thought, he noticed how 
tired and flushed the poor woman looked. 

‘T have wearied you,” he said kindly. 

‘"Oh no, sir,” she replied: *'it has been delight- 
ful.” 

‘‘You are a good soul. Miss Hughes. You suit 
me admirably. By the way, by what train do we go 
to Dartminster on Wednesday next?” 

“I have been looking up trains : the four o’clock 
train will be best.” 

“Will not that bring us in late for dinner ?” 

“It is a good train,” said Miss Hughes, in a stub- 
born voice. 

Soon afterwards she went out to lunch. She 
always disappeared for an hour in the afternoons. 
Professor Power found himself thinking with great 
interest of his visit to Betty. A time-table lay on 
Miss Hughes’ special desk. He took it up, looked 
out the trains, found that the 1 130 would take them 
to Dartminster by four o’clock, and that the four 
o’clock train would not arrive until eight. 

“What does the woman mean?” thought the Pro- 
fessor. 

To think with him was to act. He rang his bell, 


236 BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 


desired the housekeeper to send the kitchen maid im- 
mediately with a telegram, and wired to Betty : 

“Miss Hughes and I leave Paddington at i 130 
Wednesday next.” 

When Miss Hughes returned after her lunch he 
said: 

“You made a mistake.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” 

“You looked up the trains to Dartminster, did 
you not?” 

“Yes,” said Miss Hughes. 

“Well, you showed stupidity. The best train in 
the day is the 1 130. The other train takes four 
hours to get to Dartminster. I have wired to Mrs. 
Pevensey to say we will start by the 1 130.” 

“Yes, sir: of course,” said Miss Plughes, and 
she sat down in a very dejected fashion before the 
typewriter. 

She was busy all the rest of the afternoon, tran- 
scribing her shorthand notes, but in spite of herself 
her thoughts were wandering. She remembered 
Miss Spring’s letter, and how she had said: “If I 
don’t hear ... I will conclude that you are going 
to Dartminster by the train which leaves Paddington 
at 1 :30. I shall meet you on the platform.” How 
stupid of her to have left that time-table about! 
The Professor would have been quite content other- 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 237 


wise to travel by the later train. She felt a fresh 
hatred towards Miss Spring burning in her heart, 
and, in consequence, her transcription of the Pro- 
fessor’s notes was not so accurate as usual. 

On the next day the Christmas holidays began. 
Miss Hughes was glad of a little leisure to prepare 
for her visit. She was not to meet the Professor 
again until he arrived at Paddington on the Wednes- 
day after Boxing-Day. 

^‘How happy I should be if only that dreadful 
creature were not coming!” thought the poor secre- 
tary. ‘T know she will poison my cup. She is set- 
ting her cap at dear Professor Power, and I dare 
not — I dare not warn him.” 

Wednesday arrived all too quickly, and it was a 
modestly-dressed woman of a little over thirty years 
of age who waited for the Professor on the long 
platform. She knew he would be late: she hoped 
he would be late. If only he were so very late that 
he must hurry into a smoking carriage that terrible 
journey in company with Miss Spring would not be 
undertaken. But, alack and alas! here was Miss 
Spring! 

Her figure was perfectly graceful and even youth- 
ful. Her sealskin jacket was of the very richest 
Alaska seal, and fitted extremely well. On her 
head she wore a little brown toque with no orna- 


238 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 

ments of any sort — not even an ostrich plume. A 
brown veil of spotted net hid some of the wrinkles 
on her face. She had been copiously powdered, and 
even rouged, for the occasion. But Miss Spring 
knew that the Professor was a little blind and might 
not notice these things. She had used rouge and 
powder so long now that she could not bring herself 
to do without them. 

Miss Spring paced up and down expectantly. She 
had taken a first-class ticket, but she resolved in 
her heart that if Professor Power decided to go 
third she would accompany him. 

“Oh, if only he would be late!’’ thought poor 
Miss Hughes. “He generally is. He may even 
miss the train. If so, I go third, and the haughty 
madam goes first. What do I care?” 

Miss Spring saw Miss Hughes and recognized 
her at once, but did not appear to do so by either 
word or bow, and the poor angry secretary found 
her cheeks burning with greater rage than ever. 

The platform began to fill up with departing trav- 
ellers: the porters hurried here and there. All of 
a sudden a shabby-looking man, carrying his own 
Gladstone bag, was seen advancing. A very old 
umbrella was stuck under one arm. He wore a 
greasy hat which had seen long service, and a long, 


BETTY OF THE RECTOKY 239 


very loose overcoat which reached far below his 
knees. He was gazing in his short-sighted way 
about him, and refused the service of any porter. 

Before Miss Hughes could reach him, Miss 
Spring advanced. 

“Ah ! now, how sweet she said. “So you have 
decided that we are to travel in each other’s com- 
pany. That will be a great consolation to me, for 
after all the dreadful things that have occurred I 
feel quite timid going alone. One hears of such 
dreadful men!” 

“Miss — er — I beg your pardon — I forget your 
name,” said Professor Power. 

“Spring,” said the lady, gently — “the Lady of the 
Aigrette. Naughty man!” She shook her finger at 
him. She felt certain that he must recall her face. 
Anyhow, he had done what she desired. He was 
coming by the same train. She felt perfectly happy. 

The Professor stared at her as though she were 
a lunatic. 

“May I ask,” he said, “where you are going?” 

“To Dartminster, my dear Professor.” 

“Dear Professor!” thought Miss Hughes, who 
approached at that moment. 

“Well, madam, I travel third.” 

“And so do I,” said Miss Spring in a gallant 
voice, shuddering inwardly as she spoke, for all the 


240 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


third-class carriages were crowded. ‘‘Ah! and this 
is your secretary!” 

“That’s all right, Miss Hughes,” said the Profes- 
sor, looking gratefully at the woman who under- 
stood him and whom he understood. “You had 
better take your seats, ladies. I must get some 
newspapers; I always take advantage of a railway 
journey to read.” 

Miss Spring was forced to get into the same car- 
riage with Miss Hughes. The Professor stepped in 
immediately afterwards, handed Miss Hughes a 
copy of The Gentlewoman and Miss Spring a copy 
of The Field. He had got for himself that morn- 
ing’s Times and the latest number of the" National 
Review. 

“Now, ladies,” he said, “make yourselves happy.” 

He took off his hat, revealing that noble domed 
head, and prepared to read. But this was more 
than Miss Spring could stand. It so happened that 
Miss Plughes was established in the further corner 
of the carriage, and that Miss Spring and the Pro- 
fessor were vis-a-vis. She bent forward and 
touched him on the knee. 

“My dear other half !” she said inwardly. “How 
I thrill when I touch him!” 

That there was no corresponding thrill on the 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 241 


part of the Professor was all too evident, but Miss 
Spring was not to be easily abashed. 

“You got my letter?” she said. 

“Your — your what, madam?” 

“I ventured to write to you. I am a very nervous 
little thing.” 

“Little what ?” said the Professor. 

“Little thing. My nerves are highly strung. I 
did so dread travelling alone, and the dear sweet 
Pevenseys insisted on my coming to them. They 
gave me as an inducement the fact that you would 
also be with them. Ah, Professor, you must not 
desert your convert !” 

“You talk in riddles, Miss — Spring.” 

“No,” she replied, “I do not think so. You pre- 
tend to be very innocent. Professor, but you must 
know that we arranged this little journey together.” 

“I have for some time much dreaded my loss of 
memory,” said the Professor, “and you alarm me 
considerably when you say this, for I have not the 
most remote conception of having arranged to travel 
to Dartminster with you, madam.” 

“I wrote to you : I named the train. I said that 
if I did not hear I should consider the matter 
arranged. You have come by this train.” 

“You wrote to me?” 

“Certainly I did. I wrote the end of last week.” 


242 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


The Professor shouted across the carriage: 

“Miss Hughes, did we receive a letter, or did we 
not, from this lady — Miss Spring?” 

Miss Hughes bent forward and in clear tones 
replied : 

“We received a letter.” 

“You told me nothing about it.” 

“You said that letters of no' consequence were to 
be burnt, Professor.” 

“Ah,” said the Professor, “so I did — so I did. 
Thank you very much, Miss Hughes. Don’t let me 
disturb you. Pray read your paper.” 

Miss Hughes sank back in her seat, but if looks 
could kill, the glance Miss Spring gave her at that 
moment would certainly have deprived the poor 
lady of life. 

“Miss Hughes is an invaluable secretary,” mur- 
mured the Professor. 

“An insufferable upstart, I call her!” said Miss 
Spring. 

“Madam! What do you mean? I don’t like those 
whom I employ abused.” 

“Sir, do you consider a lady’s letter of no conse-^ 
quence?” 

The Professor looked hard at her. 

“Your request was trifling,” he s^id. “You are 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 243 


old enough to go as far as Dartminster alone. As 
we have met, I am pleased to be of service to you, 
but if you would permit me now to read I should 
be greatly indebted.” 

“Professor Power, I will in a few minutes, but 
there are things I long to say to you. I want you 
to guide my weak and faltering steps. I am not 
really a young woman. I am thirty-five. But, com- 
pared to you, I am young; and then I have never 
been trained to think as you think, and I have been 
sadly thoughtless. I am endowed. Professor, with 
great wealth.” 

At this juncture the ticket-collector came round to 
ask for the different tickets. Miss Spring was 
obliged to show her first-class ticket. The Professor 
looked at her. 

“Why did you buy a first-class ticket? and why 
are you travelling third?” he asked. 

“For the pleasure of your company. Ah, Profes- 
sor Power, you’re a naughty man, and you don’t 
understand the ways of women.” 

“Thank God, I don’t!” said the Professor. 

“I was talking about my wealth 

“Money does not interest me, madam.” 

“Nevertheless, you must regard it as a gift.” 

“I should, according to fh^ Bible, advise all rich 


244 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


people to sell what they have and give to the poor ; 
then they will have treasure in heaven,” said the 
Professor. 

‘T have abjured osprey plumes — the feathers, in 
fact, of all birds, owing to your kind advice. I 
would go further if only you, who are so learned 
and so great, would help me.” 

‘T don’t know how much further you can go; 
and I never gave you advice: I simply pointed out 
the cruelties of fine ladies, some of whom are igno- 
rant, some of whom are not. I am glad to feel that 
you belong to the . ignorant portion of the com- 
munity, madam, and were unaware, until I opened 
your eyes, of the horrors connected with the osprey 
trade.” 

‘T would go further,” murmured Miss Spring. 

‘‘Forgive me,” said Professor Power : “when the 
train is in full motion I am a little deaf.” 

This was really a “poser.” To raise one’s voice 
to a shrill scream was not a likely way to bring two 
halves together. Miss Spring reflected that she 
could at least have the pleasure of looking at that 
manly head, of being within a stone’s throw of that 
noble presence. Hitherto, her advances towards 
mankind had been received with toleration on 
account of her great wealth. This was the first time 
she had found a stubborn man who apparently did 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 245 


not care to talk to her. But she put this down to the 
fact that the Professor was naturally shy, and that 
he was greatly attracted by her presence. He looked 
at her once or twice over the top of his paper, and 
her heart swelled within her. Once, when the 
journey was half over, he bent towards her and 
said : 

'T regard most women as fools. 

This was very startling, but when she timidly 
inquired if she belonged to the category, he said: 
“No, you are in a worse one.” 

This she chose to interprcc as something really 
complimentary; and so the journey to Dartminster 
terminated. 

Pevensey, now apparently restored to perfect 
health, had come to meet his visitors. A carriage 
was waiting for them, and they drove straight to 
the Rectory. There the Professor, divested of his 
hideous hat and long overcoat, looked decidedly 
more presentable. Betty’s sweet voice and bright 
face attracted him enormously. He sat down close 
to her, and had eyes and ears for no one else. Miss 
Spring was attended to very politely by Pevensey 
himself, and Miss Hughes was given the most com- 
fortable seat near the fire, while Betty from time to 
time, as she talked to the Professor, patted the tired 
secretary on her knee. Betty’s eyes said plainly : “I 


246 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


am so glad you have come !’’ and Miss Hughes, Her 
heart warmed and refreshed, did not need anything 
more. 

McDermot and Laura were coming down together 
by a later train, and Power expressed satisfaction at 
having Betty for a few hours to himself. 

‘T want to see a good deal of Dartminster,” he 
said. “I have arranged with the editor of the Na- 
tional Review to write a series of papers on the great 
industries of England. Some of the largest mills 
are to be found here, and I trust your husband will 
take me round to some of them in order that I may 
make notes to-morrow morning. You, Miss Hughes, 
will of course accompany me.’’ 

“Oh, Mrs. Pevensey!” said Miss Spring at that 
moment, extricating herself from the low chair in 
which she had been seated at some little distance 
from the Professor, “you promised, didn’t you, that 
I should see as much of the poor as possible?” 

“Of course you must come with us,” said Betty : 
“that will be delightful.” 

Miss Spring cast an arch glance at the Professor. 
Her eyes said : “Naughty man ! you know you long 
to have me, although you pretend you don’t.” Then 
she tripped away obediently by the Rector’s side, 
who had promised to show her some books in which 
she was not the least interested in his study. 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


247 


‘'That is an awful woman!’’ said the Professor, 
when she had gone. ‘'Why did you ask her, my 
dear?” 

"Miss Spring !” said Betty. "Oh, but she is really 
quite nice.” 

"Not to me,” said the Professor. "I consider her 
most repellent. Miss Hughes, I shall leave you fifty 
pounds in my will for burning that letter.” 

"Oh, sir!” said Miss Hughes, coloring with de- 
light — not at the thought of the money, but at her 
beloved Professor’s approbation. 

"She is one of those blind fools,” said the Profes- 
sor, "to whom no amount of ordinary talking does 
the least vestige of good. Those are the women I 
feel inclined to be rude to. I told her in the railway 
carriage that most women were fools. She asked if 
she was included in the category, and I said : 'No, 
you are worse.’ You will scarcely believe me, Mrs. 
Pevensey, but she took it as a compliment.” 

"Professor,” said Betty, in her pretty way, "you 
must not be rude to any of my guests : I can’t have 
it. Miss Spring means very well indeed — I know 
she does; and we must all be jolly together.” 

"Let us hope that we may,” said the Professor; 
‘'it won’t be my fault, my dear young lady, if we 
are not, only, for goodness’ sake, keep me as far 


248 BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


from the woman as you decently can; she is what I 
consider aggressive.” 

Laura and McDermot arrived soon after dinner. 
Laura always wore tailor-made costumes, and had 
that frank, bright way — that sort of hail-fellow- 
well-met manner which caused men and women 
equally to like her. 

She and McDermot had a very pleasant journey 
together, and both appeared on the scene in the best 
of spirits. Miss Spring was in full evening dress. 
She was happy, and yet not happy. The manners of 
her “other half” disturbed her a good deal, but since 
he had met her' she had studied the subject carefully 
and from many points of view, and was delighted 
with certain observations which she had read in a 
recent novel — namely, to the effect that a very 
strong attraction often shows itself at first in a sort 
of defiance and distrust, and that there is no sign so 
fatal to the course of true love as a happy indiffer- 
ence. That the Professor was not indifferent to her 
she was convinced, for when he happened to meet 
her eye once or twice during dinner he looked away 
again so hastily that she knew she had some sort of 
niche in his inner consciousness. She must be satis- 
fied with that to begin with. She felt that she might 
work wonders if only that terrible Miss Hughes 
was out of the way. How any man could prefer a 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY ^49 


penniless, ugly woman like Miss Hughes, a woman 
of uncertain age — Miss Hughes was thirty, but Miss 
Spring put her down as forty — to herself seemed 
inconceivable. The Professor’s indifference to her 
money was, of course, only a blind. When once his 
eyes were opened to the great, magnificent use of 
money he would feel that money, accompanied by 
Miss Spring, was something not to be lightly disre- 
garded. Accordingly, when Eaura, after running 
upstairs to take off her hat and jacket, came down 
again. Miss Spring sailed gracefully across the room 
to meet her. 

Miss Spring was wearing a dress which caused the 
eyes to blink. It was, in one sense, a beautiful dress, 
but, in another, very aggravating. It annoyed the 
poor Professor inexpressibly. He could not make 
out what it was made of, for as she moved it made 
a sort of metallic, clinking sound. It clung to her 
lissom and really young figure like scales. It was, 
in fact, a dress entirely covered with black sequins, 
and only after great deliberation had Miss Spring 
arrayed herself in this gown. She felt sure that its 
quiet appearance combined with its brightness must 
draw attention to herself. Poor Miss Hughes, in a 
very badly-made costume, felt altogether in shadow 
beside the brilliant creature in her sparkling sequins. 

Miss Hughes sat in a corner and designated Miss 


S50 BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


Spring as a reptile. Miss Spring cared for none of 
these things. She went up to Laura. 

‘T have brought my violin. I should so like to 
play something. I feel in the mood : there are mo- 
ments when it is irresistible. I should like to play 
something which would indicate the power of love 
and the victory of love.” 

‘‘Oh, do: what fun!” said Laura. “Betty, I 
know, will accompany you. She is a very good 
musician.” 

Betty was only too pleased. She moved to the 
piano. Miss Spring tuned her violin and began to 
play. She knew that her beautiful figure looked at 
its best at these moments, and soon something hap- 
pened. She forgot herself and immediately became 
interesting. The Professor dropped his pince-nez 
and stared fixedly at her out of his short-sighted 
eyes. Who was this woman ? and what in the world 
was she playing? He really forgot for a time that 
she was his most objectionable travelling companion. 
He changed his comfortable seat by the fire for one 
nearer to the violin player, and now, putting on his 
glasses, once more stared hard at her. 

Miss Hughes in her corner underwent agony. The 
Professor nodded his head in keen appreciation. He 
loved just the sort of sentimental music which Miss 
Spring played so well. He did not in the least fol- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


^51 


low her hidden meaning, but he felt soothed and 
refreshed, and when she stopped he said: 

'‘Good Heavens, madam! don’t put up your vio- 
lin yet: give us some more.” 

“Delicious 1” thought the lady. 

She smiled at his appreciation. He loathed her 
smile, but he loved her playing. She played one 
thing after another for over an hour. At last she 
stopped. She looked around her sweetly. She had 
won a victory. She had completely subdued her 
audience. Even Mr. McDermot, matter-of-fact 
man that he was, found himself impelled to listen 
to her melodies. 

“You remind me of Switzerland,” he said. 

She did not listen to him: she was waiting for 
Power’s verdict. 

“You recall my childhood,” he said gallantly; 
“and I thank you, madam.” 

He rose as he spoke, and going across the room 
bade his hostess good-night. 

Miss Spring went to bed that evening feeling 
intensely happy. As to poor Miss Hughes, she 
watered her pillow with tears. Oh, if only she 
could steal or hide or injure that violin I 


CHAPTER XVII 


Every moment of the visitors’ time had been 
planned beforehand. They were only to spend two 
complete days at Hillside Rectory. The Rector had 
already arranged just what they were to see and 
just how each moment of every hour was to be 
occupied. Betty was anxious to obtain one or two 
lessons on the typewriter from Miss Hughes, and 
not having the slightest suspicion of the poor lady’s 
agony of mind with regard to the Professor, sug- 
gested that she should have her first lesson on the 
following morning. 

“What an excellent idea!” said Miss Spring, who, 
seated at breakfast in a most becoming tailor-made 
costume, looked brightly around her. “The Profes- 
sor and you, Mr. Pevensey, and I, of course, are 
going to one of the great factories, are we not? and 
afterwards, perhaps, we might visit the poor in their 
homes. Betty, you must be sick of the poor.” 

“Indeed I am not!” replied Betty, with some 
indignation. 

“I shall want Miss Hughes to take notes for me,” 
said the Professor. 


252 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 253 


Miss Hughes looked up with a face of intense 
gratitude. Betty saw the look, and suddenly an 
inspiration came to her. 

“Of course; I forgot,” she said; “how stupid of 
me! Naturally Mr. Power will want you to help 
him. Miss Hughes, and you and I can have a lesson 
together quite well after tea. But I tell you what. 
Miss Spring. It is unnecessary for you to tire your- 
self going over the mills. What Geoffrey and I feel 
is that you should see the poor in their homes, and 
I will myself take you to some of the most deserving 
of our poor folk.” 

“I prefer to see the mill hands ; then to-morrow I 
can go to the houses of the poor,” said Miss Spring. 

The arrangement finally ended in Miss Hughes, 
Miss Spring and Professor Power going off to- 
gether to see the mills. They took a carriage and 
started on their expedition soon after breakfast. 

Mr. McDermot and Laura found themselves alone 
for a few minutes. Mr. McDermot looked full into 
Laura’s face. 

“Are you inclined for a confidence?” he asked. 

“If you wish to confide in me I am quite willing to 
listen to you,” she said; “and if you want me to 
assure you that I never repeat things, I can say with 
truth that such is the case. But what is the matter?” 

“I am not quite happy about your sister-in-law.” 


254 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


‘‘About Betty?’’ said Laura. 

“Yes. She has changed: she has gone through 
a great deal.” 

Laura, who had been standing in one of the win- 
dows, now dropped into a chair, crossed her legs in 
a somewhat mannish way, and, looking up, stared 
hard at Mr. McDermot. 

“I presume,” she said, after a pause, “that you 
imagine you have discovered why Betty is changed.” 

“Yes,” he replied, after a very brief hesitation, 
“I have discovered the reason. Mrs. Pevensey loves 
her husband devotedly and is unhappy about him.” 

“But you think Geoffrey looks well?” 

“I do not.” 

“Then you are anxious about them both?” said 
Laura. 

“At the present moment I am more anxious about 
Mrs. Pevensey than about her husband. I wish I 
could get her to tell me everything.” 

“I don’t think she will,” replied Laura. “Why 
should she?” 

Mr. McDermot was silent for a minute. After a 
time he said slowly: 

“You love Mrs. Pevensey very much, don’t you?” 

“Oh, she’s a capital sort!” said Laura. “She is 
one of the best and finest girls I have ever met. Of 
course I love her.” 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 255 

^‘Her husband isn’t worthy of her,” said the sur- 
geon. 

‘‘Don’t forget, please, Mr. McDermot, that you 
are talking about my brother.” 

“I don’t forget. The fact matters very little. 
Pevensey is going downhill, and I cannot see any 
reason for it. He is a perfectly healthy man. Why 
does he give way to the drug habit?” 

“The drug habit !” said Laura. She gave a start. 

“Yes : that is what ails him. I cannot quite make 
out what form of drug he takes, but I believe I can 
give a shrewd guess as to its nature. The mere fact 
of his visiting Sir Preston Dykes gives me a suffi- 
cient clue. Has he a family history?” 

“We all have a family history,” said Laura, col- 
oring slightly, “but I don’t know of anything what- 
ever to make Geoffrey alarmed. For instance, we 
have no insanity or anything of that sort in our fam- 
ily.” 

“I should not have thought you had. There are 
certain signs which the medical man always per- 
ceives in these cases and which are absent from 
Pevensey’s face. Nevertheless, the fact remains 
that his young and affectionate wife is wearing herr- 
self out on his account. That she has received some 
sort of shock since I had the pleasure of meeting her 
in London I am convinced. I suspected even then 


256 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


a thorn in the flesh, and, to tell you the truth. Miss 
Pevensey, I came here because I was interested in 
your sister-in-law and would help her. I perceived 
even then that there was something far from right 
with Pevensey. Since his return to his parish he 
has had a breakdown — I am certain of it. This is 
a delicate matter to speak about. You are a very 
wise young lady. Do you recommend me to have a 
straight talk with him or with Mrs. Pevensey ?” 

Laura thought for a minute. 

^Td have a talk with Geoffrey if I were you,” she 
said. 

‘‘Then you would recommend me to say nothing 
to his wife?” 

“Well, you are very wise, and you could be guided 
as to what was best to be done after having had your 
conversation with Geoffrey.” 

“I believe you are right. I will boldly ask Peven- 
sey to have a smoke with me after tea to-day, and 
then introduce the subject. Will you, if at all in 
your power, pave the way for me ?” 

“I will certainly do so; for I will take that poor, 
abominable Miss Spring off everyone else^s hands 
and devote myself to her. Greater sacrifice could 
not be expected of me, could it?” 

The surgeon laughed, and at that moment Betty 
came into the room. 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


257 


‘T have done all my housekeeping duties,” she 
said. “The day is going to be a lovely one — spring 
in winter. Shall we go into the garden?” 

They went, and paced up and down. The sun 
shone out of a cloudless sky. Betty did not wear 
any hat, and Mr. McDermot, as he watched her 
young face, thought that he had seldom seen a more 
attractive woman. 

They were walking in the garden, and chatting 
one to the other, when Dr. Spurgeon was suddenly 
seen coming across the lawn. 

“Oh, that is our doctor!” said Betty, coloring 
slightly. “I must go and speak to him.” 

She went up to the young doctor’s side. 

“How is your husband?” asked Spurgeon. 

“Quite well, for the present. We have many 
guests in the house now, and his attention is fully 
taken up.” 

Spurgeon looked at Betty anxiously. 

“Has he slept well at night ? Does he stay long in 
his study?” 

“He has been very busy during Christmas, which 
you know must occupy every moment of his time. 
He has not come to bed very early, but when he has 
come he has slept well.” 

Spurgeon looked thoughtful. 


258 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“What is the matter?” asked Betty, suddenly, 
alarmed at his silence and his manner. 

“I don’t want to make you unhappy,” he said; 
“and just now, too, when your friends are here.” 

“Oh, if you have anything to say, do — do tell 
me!” said Betty, with impatience. 

“Only that I happen to know that Mr. Pevensey 
has secured a fresh supply of the tabloids.” 

Betty clasped her hands. The color left her face. 

“How can you tell ?” 

“You know Stevenson, the chemist, who used to 
make them up for him? — he is a great friend of 
Wrotham, who has a large chemist’s shop at the 
other side of Dartminster. Wrotham told Steven- 
son last night that your husband had been to see 
him, had explained the nature of the tabloids, and 
had, in fact, induced him to supply him with a bottle. 
It is contrary to etiquette, and Wrotham could be 
severely punished for giving such a strong medi- 
cine without a prescription; but the fact remains 
that he has done so, and that your husband is not 
without this pernicious drug to fall back upon.” 

“Oh,” said Betty, “what is to be done ?” 

“He ought to be spoken to. He is not without 
strength of mind : he ought to give them up. I will 
myself see Wrotham and tell him that I can get his 
license taken away if he ever supplies any more of 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 259 


these medicines. But there’s the large bottle which 
your husband has now in his possession to be 
accounted for.” 

Betty stood still for a minute. She felt faint. 
Hope springs eternal in the human breast, and, not- 
withstanding her agony of a week ago, the hope that 
Geoffrey would have strength to resist his besetting 
sin was beginning to revive. He had been so well, 
so bright, so almost happy in preparing for his 
guests. But now — this terrible thing had befallen 
her. He was secretly indulging in the medicine 
which was undermining his life and his intellect. 

“Dr. Spurgeon,” said Betty, suddenly, “I have 
promised to introduce you to Mr. McDermot. Will 
you come with me now and I will do so. I do not 
mind Mr. McDermot knowing. Tell him what you 
have told me.” 

“Do you think I may ?” 

“Yes: please do. Tell him everything.” 

Betty made the necessary introduction between 
the two men, and then left them together. She 
slipped her hand through Laura’s arm, and drew her 
to a distant part of the grounds. 

“What is the matter with you?” said Laura. 

“The sun has gone in; that is all,” replied Betty. 

“But it is shining brightly,” said Laura, looking 
up at the cloudless sky. 


260 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


‘Tn my heart, I mean,'' said Betty. ^'Oh, Laura ! 
we shan’t succeed : we must fall : the burden is too 
terrible. Geoffrey cannot hold up against it.” 

“You have made a great mistake in not telling me 
all your secret,” said Laura. “You have told me 
half, not all.” 

“For your own sake I dare not tell you the whole; 
you must not ask me,” said Betty. 

“Well, there is something I wish to say.” 

“What is it, dear?” 

“Mr. McDermot came down on purpose to have 
a talk with your husband.” 

“Oh! — that nice, kind man! — did he tell you so, 
Laura?” 

“Yes, a little time ago.” 

“If anyone can help him, Mr. McDermot can,” 
said Betty. “Oh, Laura, I have had a terrible time !” 

“I thought you were well and happy,” said Laura. 
“But Mr. McDermot sees deeper, and he told me he 
was quite certain you had received a shock of some 
sort. He means to speak to Geoffrey after tea 
to-night.” 

“And Dr. Spurgeon is speaking to Mr. McDermot 
now. I wonder — oh, I wonder if it will do any 
good !” 

“Mr. McDermot is a man in a thousand, Betty. 
And now, listen. There is nothing weak about me, 


BETTY OF THE RECTOKY 261 


and I firmly believe that if you would confide your 
secret to me I could help you. No one can work for 
another in the dark. You told me that Geoffrey 
was addicted to the use of a certain drug, but you 
have not once told me why he takes it: that’s just 
what I want to know.” 

“And that is just what I cannot tell you,” said 
Betty. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The visitors came back full of enthusiasm with 
regard to their morning’s expedition. Miss Spring 
had picked up certain cant phrases with regard to 
the poor which she used ad libitum. In the middle 
of lunch she confessed her inability to eat, and sud- 
denly burst into tears. She was seated next to Mr. 
Power, and as she gave way to her attack of hys- 
teria, clutched his arm with sudden violence. 

Miss Hughes looked at her with eyes that fairly 
shone with anger. Poor Mr. Power also looked 
across the table at his secretary with mute pathos. 
The indignant lady got up suddenly. 

“Let me take you to your room,” she said. “You 
have seen what has doubtless startled you. Come.” 

Miss Spring was forced to retire in Miss Hughes’ 
company. 

“What a queer woman!” said the Professor, be- 
ginning to occupy himself again with his veal cutlets. 

“She means very well, and she is rich,” said 
Betty. “She has never seen the realities of life 
before. I think her tears are quite genuine, and she 
ought to be respected for them.” 

262 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 263 


'T respect her tears,” said the Professor, “but I 
do not respect her seizing me by the arm. I object 
to such conduct on principle from any female.” 

Geoffrey and Laura could not help laughing, and 
the incident passed off without further remark. 

In the afternoon Miss Spring had sufficiently re- 
covered to go for a drive. They went into the 
country, far away from the haunts of men, and 
there the poor lady said that she felt better, and her 
sensitive heart was soothed. 

“I always had a most sensitive heart,” she re- 
marked to Mrs. Pevensey. “Even the sufferings of 
a kitten or a dog have given me torture. On ac- 
count of my fine and yet deep affections I have 
refused to have the company of either dog, cat or 
canary. You can imagine, therefore, my agony 
when I saw those poor, overworked creatures. Oh, 
it is a shame — a shame! If it had not been for Mr. 
Power’s noble way of looking at things I don’t think 
I could have gone through those mills and seen those 
overworked women — my sisters, as it were — in 
chains, in momentary danger of their lives, and with 
that dreadful hunted look on their faces. Mrs. 
Pevensey, I cannot understand how you can endure 
the life.” 

“If they can endure it, surely I can,” replied 
Betty. “The thing is not to cry about it, but to 


2C4 BETTY or THE BECTOEY 


relieve it as far as possible. I should like to have 
all young married women prevented, by law, from 
working in the mills, all children excluded, and even 
women who are unmarried ought only to work for 
half time. But that law will never be carried, and 
the dreadful things that are going on will go on as 
long as men haste to get riches and donT think at 
all of their fellow-creatures.’* 

“Well, let us talk of something else now,” said 
Miss Spring. “This has got on my nerves. Is that 
Miss Hughes driving in the other carriage with the 
Professor? I cannot say I at all like the woman.” 

“You have no reason to dislike her,” said Betty. 
“She was remarkably good to you during lunch.” 

“You mean she gave me her arm to take me out 
of the room? But it was the very last thing I 
wished. She is a terribly officious person, always 
thrusting herself between me and Professor Power. 
The dear man was just about to rise to take me deli- 
cately from the room; I could have slapped her.” 

“I am sure the Professor would not have taken 
you from the room,” said Betty. “He is unaccus- 
tomed to women: he is in no sense a lady’s man.” 

“Dear fellow!” murmured Miss Spring. “How 
infinitely I prefer him to those fleeting individuals 
who talk a lot of nonsense to all ladies — even to 
women of thirty-five — and who mean less than 


BETTY OE THE EECTOEY 265 


nothing. One look from the Professor speaks a 
volume. Ah, Mrs. Pevensey, I have never told you 
the theory that I so strongly hold 

‘‘No?” said Betty. “Isn’t this view fine?” she 
interrupted. 

“Yes ; undoubtedly. But let me speak. I believe, 
according to the saying of a great philosopher whose 
name I have forgotten, that we are sent into the 
world in pairs — that each individual belongs ex- 
clusively to another individual, and that at birth we 
are parted, and sometimes never meet our other half 
during the whole of our existence. Thus we are 
stranded, either left to wither on the stalk unwed, 
unblessed, or we marry the wrong man. You know, 
dear, how rich I am. I have had many, many offers, 
but no one has touched my heart until the dear Pro- 
fessor came along.” 

“And has he asked you to marry him?” said 
Betty, in some astonishment. 

“Not yet, Mrs. Pevensey; and forgive me for ■ 
saying that I consider such a remark just a little, a 
very little, indelicate. But I know well it is on his 
tongue; his heart is with me. I can see it in his 
glance; I can feel it in his touch. The whole thing 
is very agitating, for at thirty-five one’s feelings are 
acute. He is poor and I am rich ; but what matters 


266 BETTY OF THE BECTORY 


that? He needs the comforts and the love that I 
long to bestow upon him.” 

‘T don’t believe he will ever marry,” said Betty, 
“if you ask me. It seems frightfully unkind to say 
it, but I am almost sure you are mistaken. I know 
there must be heaps of men longing to marry. Miss 
Spring, but I do not honestly think Professor Power 
is one.” 

“Ah,” said Miss Spring, “little you know. You 
are a very young girl, and exceedingly inexperi- 
enced. May I ask you a direct question? Have 
you married your other half?” 

“You may put it as you like,” said Betty. “I have 
married the man I love best on earth: I can never 
love another as I love him. I suppose he is my 
other half.” 

“Let us pray that it may be so. It would be a 
fearful thing if your other half came along and you 
found you were mistaken.” 

“We won’t talk about it, if you don’t mind,” said 
Betty. 

“Certainly not, if you don’t wish it. But now, 
dear, let me ask you — I came here, dear, to help you 
in your noble work ; the Professor and I are at one 
as regards that. He will write for you, and oh ! how 
far the influence of his pen will be felt! But I can 
give you money down, and I will do it. Only mat- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 267 


ters will be much better and easier if the dear man 
would unburden himself and declare frankly to me 
what he really feels towards me. His restlessness 
in my presence declares his spirit, and I believe Le 
would have spoken before now but for that Miss 
Hughes.’^ 

“She is his secretary: he is obliged to be with 
her,” said Betty. 

“Not as often as you imagine, Mrs. Pevensey. I 
consider Miss Hughes a most pushing, forward per- 
son. It’s my opinion that the miserable creature is 
trying to secure the great Professor for herself. 
Little she knows ; but, seeing him daily as she does, 
she has, of course, opportunities which I, alas ! can- 
not compete with. Now I was wondering if by any 
chance you could help me to sever the connection be- 
tween the Professor and Miss Hughes.” 

“I can do nothing of the sort,” said Betty. “Miss 
Hughes suits Professor Power admirably. She is 
not thinking of marrying him; she is an honest, 
good, faithful woman: I like her extremely; and 
there is nothing whatever underhand about her. 
She is an excellent secretary, and you certainly. Miss 
Spring, will not aid your own cause by trying to put 
Professor Power against Miss Hughes.” 

“I suppose you are right,” said Miss Spring, look- 
ing thoughtful. “I suppose I must bear with her. 


268 BETTY OF THE BECTORY 


She rouses the queerest sensations within me: it 
only shows how deep my feelings are: I really 
believe I am jealous of her. Isn’t it frank and young 
of me to say a thing of that sort? But, you know, 
I really feel so young. You, of course, are a child. 
But believe me, I possess the child’s heart.” 

“How old did you say you were ?” asked Betty. 

“Thirty-five my last birthday.” 

“Well,” said Betty, a little maliciously, “Miss 
Hughes is only thirty; she told me so.” 

“I don’t believe it for a nioment. She looks close 
on fifty.” 

“She is not. She has had to work very hard, and 
is poor: but that is her age. Nothing would induce 
Miss Hughes to tell a lie.” 

“From the way you talk, Mrs. Pevensey, it seems 
you are trying to get up a match between the Pro- 
fessor and that plain, penniless, insignificant wo- 
man.” 

Betty colored hastily. 

“It seems,” she said, “very unfair to bring up 
anyone’s poverty against her; and as to being plain 
— Geoffrey and I think she has such a nice face ; and 
as to being insignificant — she is modest and retiring. 
Oh, Miss Spring, don’t think anything about her at 
all : just do leave the poor thing alone. You don’t 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 260 

know how unpleasant it is to me when you talk like 
this/’ 

‘T will be silent if you wish me to, Mrs. Pevensey ; 
but I trust to your honor not to repeat a word of 
what I have said.” 

‘T certainly won’t.” 

‘‘And you will help me in any way in your 
power ?” 

‘T can’t promise that, for, as you say, I am very 
young. You are, according to your own showing, 
fifteen years older than I, and surely you ought to 
be able to manage your own affairs.” 

“So I can, and will, if you don’t interfere.” 

“I certainly won’t interfere.” 

By-and-by they reached home, Betty feeling a 
good deal ruffled by their conversation. Immedi- 
ately after tea, Betty and Miss Hughes went into 
the Rector’s study in order to have a lesson on the 
Remington typewriter. Miss Hughes said impul- 
sively, as she took the cover from the machine and 
showed her pupil how to set to work : 

“Oh, you cannot imagine how I love you, and 
what a happiness it is to be here!” 

“I am glad to have you,” said Betty. “We must 
always be friends,” she added. “Will you write to 
me sometimes when you have time ?” 


270 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


‘‘That would be a great pleasure. You treat me 
as no one has done since my mother died ten years 
ago. 

“Have you been working for your living for ten 
years said Betty, sympathy in her tone. 

“Oh, longer than that,” replied Miss Hughes. 
“Since I was eighteen. My father died then, and 
left my dear mother and me very badly off. Short- 
hand and typing were thought a good profession 
twelve years ago, but now so many, many people 
have taken it up that it is difficult to get a well-paid 
post. After my mother died I had some sad times. 
I was very lonely, and had no friends or relations. 
My old friends would take no notice of me because 
I was poor. I went from one post to another, and 
broke down, and finally got into bad health. Then 
one day the manager of a large typewriting office — 
I wonT mention his name — sent me to Professor 
Power’s house to do some work for him. I was 
dreadfully paid at that office, and I suppose I was 
specially weak, for in the midst of the work I fainted 
away. When I came to myself I was lying on a 
horse-hair sofa, and the Professor was standing by 
me fanning me with an advertisement sheet of the 
Times. He looked frightfully scared, and ever so 
sorry. He would not let me stir, but sat down by 
me and got me to tell him my story. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 271 


‘T did so in a few words. I think I have a cer- 
tain penetration of character, and knew that he 
was not the sort of man to be worried by sentiment, 
although most undoubtedly his feelings would be 
roused by real distress. My story rang true, for it 
was the account of my own life. When I had 
finished, he said: 

“ ‘How long were you engaged to Messrs. * 

naming the firm who had sent me to him. I said that 
mine was a weekly engagement. He told me to 
finish my week and then come to him. I went to 
him on the following Monday, and have never left 
him since. He pays me handsomely. I have enough 
for my modest requirements. I live for him, and for 
him alone. I think I do what he wants, for I am 
quick and adaptable. He is of use to me, and I am 
of use to him. Oh, Mrs. Pevensey, you surely don’t 
think that dreadful woman wants to take him from 
me!” 

“What dreadful woman?” asked Betty. 

“You know the person I mean — Miss Spring.” 

“I cannot answer that question. Miss Hughes, 
because it would not be fair; but the person to be 
considered is the Professor himself. I do not be- 
lieve that anything would induce him to part with 
you.” 

“Are you certain of what you say?” 


272 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


‘‘Yes, I am quite certain. He has praised you so 
much to us.” 

“Mrs. Pevensey,” said Miss Hughes, “it seems 
so wrong, but I absolutely hate that woman.” 

“Well, try not to,” said Betty. “Your visit here, 
won’t last long, and when you get back to town you 
are not likely to see any more of her. Now, please, 
may I have my lesson?” 

“Yes, yes; what a dear creature you are! Oh, if 
all women were like you !” 

“It would be very tiresome for the world,” said 
Betty. “We want variety — endless variety: and 
Miss Spring is really very kind-hearted.” 

“I don’t think she is,” said Miss Hughes. “I 
think she’s exceedingly clever, though; and that 
music of hers alarms me more than anything, for I 
heard the Professor humming some of the airs that 
she played last night when we were going over the 
factory to-day.” 

“She plays beautifully,” said Betty; “but I think 
the Professor does not connect her with her music. 
Now, please, shall we begin?” 

When dinner was over, and the ladies had gone 
into the drawing-room, McDermot meant to seize 
his opportunity to say some very plain words to 
Geoffrey Pevensey. He had noticed him during 
dinner, and was quite certain that his handsome 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 273 


young host was not in an absolutely normal condi- 
tion. In short, he was convinced that the Rector 
had again taken a certain amount of the pernicious 
drug — not a large dose, by any means, but sufficient 
to brighten his eyes and steady his nerves. An 
ordinary person would not have noticed anything 
peculiar about Pevensey, but McDermot was not a 
surgeon and physician for nothing. He felt well 
assured that for a man with such highly-strung 
nerves as the Rector’s the downward fall must be 
rapid. The power to resist would grow daily and 
hourly weaker, and the man would die in his youth 
a slave to the worst habit in the world. 

McDermot could not help glancing from the 
splendid-looking man to his noble young wife, and 
he vowed a vow under his breath that if anyone on 
earth could save that man he would do it for Betty’s 
sake. Power was there with others of the company 
after dinner, but very soon he left the room, intend- 
ing to go into the study. 

^'You will find me in the study by-and-by,” he 
said. ‘T am going to take notes with the help of 
Miss Hughes.” 

He went straight to the drawing-room and called 
his secretary. 

“Miss Hughes, can you give me a few minutes of 
your time?” 


274 BETTY OF THE KECTORYl 


Miss Hughes sprang up with alacrity. She left 
the room. The Professor accompanied her, and 
Betty, Laura and Miss Spring were left alone. Miss 
Spring said at once to Betty : 

‘T have a great inspiration over me, and I must 
let it forth in music. My violin must speak. Where 
does that door lead?” 

‘Tt is the door into the study,” said Betty. 

'‘Then will you, Laura, have the kindness to open 
the door?” 

“But why should I do so?” asked Laura; “the 
Professor wants to make notes with his secretary, 
and your music will only disturb him.” 

Miss Spring stepped gracefully across the room. 

“I will open the door myself,” she said. 

Laura colored crimson, but would not enter into 
a contest with the extraordinary woman. Betty sat 
down to the piano and began to play. Her heart 
was very sad. She felt almost certain that McDer- 
mot at that moment was talking seriously to her 
husband, and she longed to be with them to help 
her husband, to assure him of her undying love. 
She forgot Miss Spring’s small ambitions and silly 
desires, but she was a magnificent accompanist. 
Miss Spring played with her heart, and Miss Spring 
as a violin player was in her way inimitable. She 
drew forth sighs from the violin : she made it talk : 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 275 


she made it weep: she made it laugh. Professor 
Power heard it in the distant study. There were 
very few things that could draw him from his philo- 
sophic writings, and he was absorbed now over a 
very interesting paper. But this music penetrated 
through his outer ears into his heart. 

Miss Hughes, who was watching him and knew 
well the terrible magnetism of the music, noticed his 
want of concentration of thought as he paused be- 
tween the sentences. At last he stopped altogether. 

‘T have finished, sir,” said the secretary, waiting 
with her stylographic pen in hand. 

‘T have no more thoughts to-night,” said the Pro- 
fessor. ‘‘That will do, thank you. What is that? 

Ah, it reminds me — it reminds me ” He turned 

and looked at Miss Hughes. “Once I was young,” 
he said; “once I had a heart.” 

He went into the drawing-room. The secretary 
folded her note-book sadly and followed him. It 
was in the midst of this scene, and just when the 
violin was speaking in its most powerful and mar- 
vellous way, that there came a loud report like a 
great thunderclap on the night air. It was so start- 
ling that everyone rushed to the hall door and looked 
out. There was a great smoke rising high towards 
the heavens, and Betty clasped her hands in agony. 

“There has been an explosion in the Farnham 


276 BETTY OF THE EECTORY‘ 


factory,” she said. ‘‘That is the direction. Oh, 
what can have happened? We must go there at 
once.” 

She looked wild with excitement. Forgetting her 
guests, she rushed into the dining-room to her hus- 
band. 

“Did you hear it? did you hear it?” she asked. 

McDermot turned a distressed face towards her. 
The dining-room was situated at the extreme back of 
the house : the noise of the explosion was therefore 
not half so plainly distinguished there as in the 
drawing-room. Betty rushed up to her husband. 

“Come at once, Geoff! there is awful trouble — 
frightful! There has been an explosion at Farn- 
ham’s factory. I know a number of the hands were 
going to work overtime to-night, and amongst them 
dear little Miriam Grey. You know she was to be 
married in a week. Oh, I trust — I hope nothing has 
happened to her! But I must go there at once.” 

“Are you certain what you say is right?” said the 
Rector. 

“How can I doubt it? Did you not hear that 
noise ?’^ 

“I heard a very loud clap of thunder,” said 
McDermot. 

“It was not thunder: it was an explosion. Oh, 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 277 


that deadly, deadly work! Please — please come 
with me, Geoff.” 

‘'Of course I will, dear.” 

Betty flew upstairs to her room. In a few min- 
utes she came down again in a waterproof cloak and 
a small hat. Her husband had put on a light over- 
coat over his evening suit. 

‘T will come with you, of course,” said McDer- 
mot. 

“That is good,” said Betty. 

She was met in the hall by Laura, Power, Miss 
Spring and Miss Hughes. Miss Spring’s face was 
deadly white, and her teeth were chattering. 

“Don’t go into scenes of horror: it is too much 
for you,” she said. 

“What do you mean?” said Betty. She shook the 
woman’s hand off. “Come, Geoff, come,” she said; 
and she flew down the avenue. McDermot followed 
her. 

“I am going, too,” said Mr. Power. 

“You are not,” said Miss Spring. 

“Yes, madam, I — am!” 

Miss Spring considered for half a minute. 

“Then I will go^' she said. “Yes, I must accus- 
tom myself to these things. You have opened my 
eyes. The lady, who will never wear the aigrette 
again cannot prove herself a coward.” 


278 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


‘‘You will be terribly in the way,” said Power. 
But Miss Spring did not hear him. She was already 
upstairs getting ready to follow Betty and her hus- 
band and the surgeon to the factory. 

The Farnham factory was one of the largest in 
Dartminster. It was largely devoted to the manu- 
facture of glass of all kinds, and almost all the 
engines were worked by electricity. What had 
caused the explosion and what was the extent of the 
damage could not be ascertained until the party 
from the Rectory reached the place. 

The Rector, who had lost all his depression, and 
was once more vigorous, anxious, full of zeal for his 
suffering parishioners, soon found a cab into which 
he, Betty and McDermot entered. In a very few 
minutes they arrived at the factory, where was a 
scene of terrible confusion. Half a dozen people 
had been killed, and at least twenty terribly injured. 
This happened to be a late night at the factory, and 
a great many people had been working overtime. 
Amongst these was Miriam Grey, the pretty young 
girl who was to be a bride in a few days’ time. 

Betty had seen her only that morning. She had 
come to the Rectory on a message for Betty, and had 
told her that she must be at the factory until mid- 
night. 

“But I don’t mind,” said Miriam, looking at the 


BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 279 


lady she loved out of her sweet, soft grey eyes, “for 
it will bring Jim in a few more shillings for our 
home. I’d do anything for Jim. Oh, I am so 
happy, ma’am! I wonder if God means me to be 
as happy always as I am now. Oh, I am so happy !” 

It was about Miriam that Betty thought most as 
she took that rapid drive to the scene of the accident. 
There would doubtless be many sufferers, but if 
only Miriam had escaped she felt that she could 
thank God. 

The foreman of the works was uninjured. He 
came out at once to speak to Pevensey. He ex- 
plained that the explosion was caused by a moment’s 
carelessness on the part of a trained worker; that a 
great deal of glass was irretrievably broken and 
destroyed, and, what was far more important, some 
lives were lost, and many injured. 

“Is Miriam Grey safe?” burst from Betty’s white 
lips. 

The overseer looked at her kindly. 

“You mean that pretty young woman who was 
so soon to be married to James Moore?” 

“Yes, yes; tell me about her.” 

“She is not dead, madam, but she is amongst the 
injured.” 

“Take me to her at once,” said Betty. 

The man hesitated and looked at Pevensey. His 


m BETTY OE THE EECTOKY 


eyes seemed to say: *Ts it right? Will the young 
lady bear it?” But Pevensey said in a peremptory 
tone : 

“Yes; take my wife to Miriam; she wishes it.” 

Without a word the man turned. He asked Betty 
to follow him, and they went down the long passage 
and passed that part of the works which was abso- 
lutely destroyed by the explosion. It was now a 
blackened mass of ruin, drenched with water, for 
the explosion had been followed by fire, which had, 
however, been put out quickly. 

“We have lost tens of thousands by this night’s 
work,” said the man. “I don’t know what Messrs. 
Farnham will say. They won’t know anything 
about it until the morning. They live at least ten 
miles away. They can do nothing; but I will my- 
self go to them by the first train in the morning.” 

“What does the money matter?” said Betty. “It 
is the people who are killed — who are suffering.” 

“That is true,” said the man. “There are three 
women dead — all mothers — and two men, and a boy. 
The girl you particularly want to see, madam, is 
very badly hurt. I don’t think there is much hope 
of her recovery.” 

“Oh!” said Betty; “little Miriam!” She very 
nearly burst into tears. Then she restrained herself. 

The man now turned into a room where those 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY m 

who had most suffered from the explosion had been 
conveyed. Some were terribly blackened and in- 
jured in various ways. These were all men. The 
only woman who had suffered severely was Miriam 
Grey. She was laid on some cushions and rugs in 
a distant part of the great room, and Betty now bent 
over her. Her face was partly covered with a light 
and soft handkerchief which someone had put over 
it. She was lying on her side and moaning feebly. 
Betty sat down by her. She did not attempt to 
touch her. She felt a vague sense of comfort at 
being close to the girl. She wondered where Jim 
Moore was; if he was uninjured; if he would soon 
come to see Miriam. 

He was a young giant, very handsome, a splendid 
fellow, and Miriam and he had been engaged for a 
year and a half. They loved each other devotedly, 
and the following Saturday would be their wedding- 
day. 

The girl was very slightly made, but was quite a 
beautiful little thing in her way — so dainty, so neat, 
with a sweet, fresh, innocent face. She had been 
the mainstay of her mother during that mother’s 
lifetime, and would not marry Jim while her mother 
lived, choosing to devote all her earnings to the old 
woman’s comforts. The mother had died two 
months ago: the girl was free. She was to leave 


m BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


the mill on Saturday for ever, for Jim would not 
hear of her remaining there as a worker after her 
marriage. He could earn enough for both, he said. 

There were several doctors already on the scene, 
who were examining the other victims of the ex- 
plosion, but no one had yet touched Miriam, who 
lay, faintly breathing, but otherwise quite still. 

By-and-by Pevensey and McDermot appeared. 
McDermot bent down over the girl. 

“Do you mind moving away ?” he said to Betty. 

“Come, dear,’' said her husband. 

She saw that the surgeon would rather examine 
the girl without her presence, and, turning her back 
to Miriam, she clasped Pevensey’s hand. McDer- 
mot came back in a few minutes. 

“Well?” said Betty, eagerly. 

“Thank God!” said McDermot. 

“Why do you speak like that ? Is she only slightly 
injured? Somehow, I felt — I felt that it was dread- 
ful.” 

“She will not see the morning,” was McDermot’s 
answer. “She is suffering from paralysis of the 
spine — complete and absolute — and one side of 
her face is badly burnt.” 

“Then why did you say ‘Thank God’ ?” said Betty, 
who began to tremble violently. 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 283 


‘‘Because that poor fellow, Jim Moore, is amongst 
the killed/’ 

“Oh, I understand!” said Betty. “They will not 
be parted. Oh, I am glad !” 

“There is one consolation for you — one great 
consolation,” said McDermot; “she is not suffering 
the slightest pain. It is impossible after paralysis of 
the spine. She may recover for a few minutes just 
at the end, and then ” 

“I will stay with her,” said Betty. 

“Ought you to stay here all night, darling?” said 
her husband. 

“I will stay,” said the girl. “I will tell her my- 
self that she will meet Jim at the other side, where 
there is no chance of parting.” 

Her voice trembled. She turned away from 
McDermot and sat on the floor by Miriam’s side. 
All during that long night Betty sat by Miriam 
Grey, who had no friends to come to see her; she 
was all alone. The one who loved her was dead. 
The girl herself was suffering nothing. She just 
breathed: no more. Nothing whatever could be 
done. 

McDermot offered to keep Betty company, but 
she would not have him. “No,” she said, “there 
are others who may recover and who may need you. 


284 BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


Go to them : stay with them. I am so thankful — so 
thankful to be with her!’^ 

Professor Power, Miss Spring, Laura and Miss 
Hughes all appeared presently on the scene. They 
were not allowed to approach Betty. A screen was 
put round that part of the room where the dying 
girl lay. 

It was very early in the morning when the soul 
of Miriam Grey departed. She had, as the surgeon 
had predicted, a moment’s consciousness. She 
looked around, with her wide-open grey eyes, smiled 
very faintly at Betty, and said : 

“Fve had a wonderful dream. Is this my wed- 
ding-day ?” 

“Yes, Miriam,” said Betty, suddenly. 

“I am glad,” murmured Miriam. “I am about 
tired. Ell never have to work any more.” 

“Never, Miriam; never again,” said Betty. 

Suddenly Miriam looked past her, and her face 
lit up with intense joy. 

“Why— Jim!” she said; “Jim!” 

With love in her voice, with hope on her face, 
with ecstasy in her heart, the mill-girl went forth to 
meet her bridegroom. 


CHAPTER XIX 


When Betty went home that day she went 
straight to her room, and Pevensey stayed with her. 

‘T am quite happy,’' she said to him once or twice. 
‘Tt would not have been really safe for them down 
here ; it is quite safe for them up there. But I want 
to be alone; don’t let the others come near me just 
for a little.” 

So her guests left Betty alone, and she slept, and 
thought of Miriam, and by the evening was suffi- 
ciently refreshed to come* downstairs. 

The terrible accident had caused a feeling of de- 
pression to steal over the entire party, and they 
were none of them sorry to think of returning to 
London on the following morning. Betty was too 
subdued to be any longer a vivacious hostess. If 
she could have spoken of the thing to others she 
could have borne it. But that was beyond her 
power. Once or twice she looked longingly at her 
husband, and it is possible that the thought entered 
her mind that she envied Miriam Grey and Jim 
Moore, for nothing could divide their wedded bliss, 
280 


28(5 BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


Miss Spring went up to her once and said, in a 
gentle, changed sort of voice; 

“I understand at last about the poor. Here is a 
check for five hundred pounds. Spend it as you 
think best.” ' 

“Thank you,” replied Betty. 

But she scarcely looked at Miss Spring, and the 
check, munificent as it was in amount, scarcely 
appealed to her. 

Miss Hughes took Betty’s hand and kissed it. 

“I shall always think of you, Mrs. Pevensey, when 
I think of the angels,” said poor Miss Hughes. 
“Oh, I am so sorry for you !” 

“Don’t be sorry for me at all,” said Betty. “I 
am not quite myself to-night, but, believe me, I am 
not unhappy ; and you will write to me now and then 
as you promised ?” 

“I will, certainly.” 

“And if you are in trouble at any time you will 
let me help you?” 

“Indeed I will.” 

“You will always remember that I am your true, 
true friend?” 

“I will always remember,” said Miss Hughes. 

The Professor’s remark to Betty that evening 
was : 

“Mrs. Pevensey, if all women were like you I’d 


BETTY OF THE RECTOKY 287 


have taken one of them to wife many years before 
this. As it is, I am a confirmed old bachelor.” 

^‘But you have got a very faithful lady who is 
devoted to you, and who would do anything in her 
power to help you,” said Betty. 

“You mean Miss Hughes?” said the Professor. 

“Yes.” 

“I could never expect to find anyone better. But 
if only she could play the violin r-” 

He went away after these last words, and Betty 
presently retired to her room. She would have no 
opportunity of saying a word to her guests in the 
morning, for they were all to leave by a very early 
train. 

Meanwhile, Pevensey and McDermot had a long 
talk together. 

“Now that I truly understand,” said McDermot, 
“the nature of the drug, I am more than ever 
alarmed and distressed at your taking it. Are you 
not man enough to abstain?” 

“At the present moment,” said Pevensey, “I don’t 
feel the slightest inclination to touch it.” 

“That is not to be marvelled at. You have just 
had a severe mental shock : but remember, that will 
pass off. Preston Dykes has told you the nature of 
the drug?” 

“He has.” 


288 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


“I cannot possibly understand why a healthy man 
like you should deliberately set to work to wreck 
his constitution.” 

“I am subjected'to great mental disquietude,” said 
Pevensey. 

“The drug causes that,” was McDermot’s remark. 

“You will forgive me, but I had that disquietude 
before I touched the drug.” 

“Have you a reason for your trouble?” 

“I have.” 

“Will you tell it to me?” 

“It is a family matter. I told it to Preston 
Dykes : I also mentioned it to my wife. It can never 
be got over. Dykes says that I shall hasten the 
catastrophe and make it, in fact, an assured thing 
if I continue to take the drug, and yet I cannot 
abstain. There are times when I am nearly mad. If 
you knew my sufferings you would pity me.” 

“I do, from my heart,” said McDermot. “You 
have all that man can wish for — a happy home, a 
good income, a most noble wife, and yet you fling 
everything away. You will die of ” 

“Softening of the brain, of course,” said Peven- 
sey in a gloomy tone. “There, I think I have ex- 
plained. Thank you for your advice. You are 
good; but you stand on a rock, whereas I flounder 
in the mire. If I could get a firm foundation under 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 289 


my feet ; if this ghastly, most ghastly fear was silent 
— if, in short, it did not exist, I should be as little 
influenced by that drug as you are, McDermot. As 
things are I cannot trust myself, that’s the truth.” 

McDermot and Pevensey were both in the library 
— that room which had witnessed Pevensey’s most 
terrible fall — and just at that moment a girl rose 
from her seat by the fire and came forward to meet 
them. It was Laura. Her face was pale as death. 

“I overheard everything you said, Geoffrey,” was 
her remark, ‘‘and I am not ashamed to say that I 
listened on purpose. Well, I think I know how to 
act now. We are ‘going back to town to-morrow. 
You will hear from me — or of me — presently. 
Don’t scold. It is a right good thing that I know 
at last what neither you nor Betty had courage to 
tell me.” 

Pevensey followed his sister and seized her arm. 

“You dare not do anything!” he said. “You had 
no right to listen.” 

“I had — every possible right — as you will know 
before long.” 

She wrenched her hand away from him and left 
the room. McDermot watched her for a minute. 

“Your sister is a very fine and brave girl,” he 
said. “I hope you won’t be offended when I say 
that I wish you had half her character and spunk.” 


290 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


“Look here, McDermot,’' said Pevensey, grasp- 
ing his hand, “through a most unfortunate acci- 
dent, or rather, through Laura’s determination, she 
has got upon the track of the thing which will wreck 
her peace as it will wreck mine. She must never, 
never know. I must go and see my mother. I will 
go up to town with you all to-morrow. Intolerable 
as this burden is, I would not have it fall upon 
Laura.” 


CHAPTER XX 


• But Pevensey was unable to go up to London on 
the following day owing to Betty’s sudden collapse. 
She had held up bravely until the very last moment, 
but now her strength completely failed her. Her 
temperature was high. The doctor was sent for, and 
insisted on her remaining in bed. Pevensey could 
not possibly leave his wife, and Laura, who seemed 
possessed by a strange feeling which caused her to 
avoid her brother and sister-in-law, started off for 
London, to get her great relief, without him. 

On her way to town she said a few words to Mr. 
McDermot. 

‘T consider,” said Laura, “that Betty’s illness is 
nothing short of providential.” 

He looked at her out of his shrewd eyes, and said 
suddenly : 

“Why did you listen last night ?” 

“There are moments,” replied Laura, “when one 
must be mean in order to be great. I have guessed 
for some time that Geoffrey is suffering from a 
wrong impression. I believe I can get to the bot- 
tom of that terrible thing which is worrying him, 
291 


292 BETTY OE THE KECTOEY 


but until I was quite certain of my ground I could 
not take any steps.” 

“You will be doing a noble work if you can re- 
lieve the poor fellow’s mind,” said Mr. McDermot. 

“I do not mean to leave a stone unturned in order 
to effect my object,” was her reply. Then she added 
suddenly: “In your vast experience of life, Mr. 
McDermot, have you not sometimes come to the 
discovery that women have greater courage than 
men?” 

He looked at her almost quizzically, a cynical light 
in his eyes. Then their expression altered. 

“Why do you ask me?” he said suddenly. 

“Because,” she said swiftly, “it is my firm inten- 
tion to put myself into the fire in order to get Geof- 
frey out.” 

“I cannot understand you,” was his reply. 

She laughed, and her laugh was a little discordant. 

“I have had my suspicions for some time,” she 
said. “They will be realities before this night is 
over; but even at the worst there is no fear of my 
adopting that terrible source of relief which poor 
Geoffrey has had recourse to.” 

“Then you are stronger ‘than he,” said the sur- 
geon. “I do not know enough to give you real 
advice, but if at any time I can help you, will you 
command me?” 


BETTY OF THE BECTORY 


293 


will indeed; and I am so glad to know you,’' 
she answered cheerfully. ^ 

During the journey back to town, Professor 
Power was also much exercised in his mind. He 
was in the same compartment with Laura and 
McDermot. Miss Spring sat facing him, and Miss 
Hughes was at his side. Between these two ladies 
there existed a feud which was very nearly an open 
one. The Professor, quite unconscious of any pos- 
sible cause of disagreement between them, was 
wrapped in meditation. He did not speak to either. 
Miss Hughes pretended to bury herself in a book. 
Miss Spring was restless, and once or twice trod on 
the Professor’s toes. He invariably started, with 
an beg your pardon,” which caused Miss Hughes 
to color hotly, and the Professor to wonder where 
he could put his feet so that they might not be in 
the way of the lady who was facing him. Miss 
Hughes did her very best to feel amiable, but there 
is no doubt whatever that those angry feelings 
which stir up strife were occupying her heart; and 
even the thought of Betty — the remembrance of her 
goodness and the feeling that she had left her sweet 
young hostess broken down and ill — could not alto- 
gether subdue that jealousy which was consuming 
her. Again and again she looked at Miss Spring, 
trying to apprise her various charms. She was rich, 


294 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


but the Professor thought nothing at all of that. She 
was old : it was simply ludicrous for the woman to 
pose as only five-and-thirty. In that respect Miss 
Hughes had the advantage of Miss Spring. Be- 
sides, Miss Hughes saw the Professor daily, whereas 
Miss Spring could only manage to meet him at inter- 
vals. 

On the whole, the secretary thought that the 
advantages lay with her. She had not the slightest 
idea of marrying her dear Professor, but she did 
want to keep him from becoming the husband of 
that atrocious old woman who sat opposite to him. 

The journey had very nearly come to an end when 
something was said, however, by the Professor 
which raised poor Miss Hughes’ jealousy to boiling 
point. 

“There is the sweetest melody running in my 
head,” said Professor Power. “I cannot recall the 
name, but it keeps repeating itself over and over 
again. It is like the babbling of a brook in summer, 
and there is something about it which reminds me 
of the sunshine in May, the primroses, and the 
cherry trees in full blossom. I can see those white 
cherry trees bending over the stream, and I hear 
the ripple of the water, and I am young once more. 
You brought it all back to me, dear lady, when you 
played the violin so exquisitely last night.” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY £95 


Miss Spring felt her heart leap into her mouth. 

“I would play to you once again,” she said. “It 
is a pleasure to me to find my simple music appre- 
ciated.” 

“She knows her music isn’t a bit simple!” mur- 
mured Miss Hughes under her breath. 

“I would play to you,” continued Miss Spring, 
“either at my own house or at yours.” 

“I hardly ever go out; but I would come to you 
if you could make certain that I should meet no 
other visitors.” 

“You shall meet no one else; and I will play the 
violin unaccompanied. The sort of music you like 
will sound exquisite even without a pianoforte ac- 
companiment.” 

“I can play the piano if it is necessary,” said Miss 
Hughes. 

The Professor looked at her. 

“Can you fit the expression in?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she murmured. She felt inclined 
to say : “Professor, I give you up ; this is more than 
I can stand.” But prudence forced her to hold her 
tongue. Miss Spring, on the contrary, was radiant. 

“You will come to-morrow,” she said, “at four 
o’clock to-morrow, and then I will play those melo- 
dies which you love. Afterwards you can go. I will 
not expect you to speak ; but you will rest and I will 


m BETTY OE THE EEOTOBY 


play to you. I know what music is to the tired 
brain.” 

“It conjures up pictures,” said the Professor. “I 
thank you very heartily, and I will come.” 

If Laura felt anxious, if Betty’s head ached inces- 
santly, if poor Miss Hughes was reduced almost to 
despair, and if Pevensey, left alone, struggled 
fiercely with temptation, and McDermot wondered 
and wondered what it all meant, there were at least 
two happy people that day: one was Miss Spring; 
the other. Professor Power. 

The Professor was in a queer predicament. He 
loved the music more than he hated the lady, there- 
fore he would go to listen to it. He could shut his 
eyes so that he did not see her, and the pictures she 
would conjure up would appeal to him. His tired 
brain would be rested : he would be in Paradise once 
more. 

Miss Spring was equally in a state of delight. 
She was an excellent musician, and truly loved music 
for itself ; but she certainly preferred the man to the 
music. Therefore this pair were more or less play- 
ing at cross-purposes. 

Miss Hughes, thoroughly miserable, went home to 
her lodgings and indulged in all those vagaries 
which the green-eyed monster causes to flare up in 
a woman’s breast. What could she do to keep the 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 207 


Professor and Miss Spring apart? She had known 
long ago of this great man’s passion for music. If 
she could get someone else to play for him, perhaps 
her cause would be won. She guessed truly enough 
that he did not care for Miss Spring for herself, 
but that her music, being of a very excellent quality, 
appealed to a part of him which was always raised 
to full life by its influence. If she could only find 
a man to come to the Professor’s house in Blooms- 
bury and play for him there! She knew well that 
Professor Power disliked going out, that he only 
dined out on sufferance, that he refused all invita- 
tions to afternoon tea, that he disliked fashionable 
“At Homes,” and loathed fashionable ladies. She 
must not speak against Miss Spring, for that would 
be giving her own cause away; but if only she could 
supply her dear Professor with the one thing he 
needed — a little music in his quiet hours — all would 
be well. 

Miss Hughes amongst her acquaintances num- 
bered a young musical artist of the name of Halbert. 
He was twenty-five, and had never done much in the 
world. He was devoted to music, however, and had 
studied it exhaustively. As Miss Hughes thought 
of him now her hopes began to rise. She knew that 
in especial he played the violin. She knew that 
there was an old piano in one of the Professor’s 


m BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


rooms. She could accompany Halbert, and thus 
give the Professor the music his soul craved for 
when he required it. Thus Miss Spring would be 
forgotten, and the small influence she exercised over 
him would die out. Time, however, was of great 
value, for the appointment Miss Spring had made 
with Professor Power was for the next afternoon. 

The good lady was tired and flurried, but she put 
on her hat once more, dressed, and went out. She 
was lucky enough to find Halbert at home, and 
immediately explained part of her mission. 

“Are you very busy just now?” she asked. 

“No, Miss Hughes,” he replied : “I wish I were. 
It is difficult to get engagements in these days. 
Every nook and cranny seems crowded, and we who 
want employment are pushed aside.” 

“Then will you take a very small commission 
from me?” said Miss Hughes. 

“From you?” said Halbert, staring at the lady in 
some astonishment. 

“I can pay you,” she replied, “and I will. I would ' 
not ask you to come for nothing. I want you to- 
morrow to call at Professor Power’s house, 17 Kep- 
pel Street, and to bring your violin with you. Leave 
the rest to me, only make a selection of music which 
is not too deep or too difficult to understand. Will 
you be with us at half-past three in the afternoon?! 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY m 


1 will pay you five shillings an hour ; and I will ask 
you to remain with us to-morrow for an hour and 
a half. You will come, will you not ?’^ 

‘T will come with pleasure; but I cannot possibly 
take your money. It will be a pleasure for so great 
a man as Professor Power. Shall I have the felicity 
of meeting him 

“That I cannot tell you. I propose that the music 
shall be conducted in the ante-room, so that he may 
feel quite free to pace up and down, or rest, just as 
it pleases him. But I cannot take your time for 
nothing. The matter is of importance to me. You 
will not fail me, will you?” 

“Certainly I will not fail you; and I am to choose, 
you say, simple things?” 

“Oh, yes ; the sort of music that elderly men love 
— the music that recalls bygone days.” 

T think I understand. Well, I can promise to 
be with you at the appointed time.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Miss Hughes was now comparatively happy, 
and being tired out with her various emotions and 
constant exertions, slept soundly that night. The 
next day there were two ladies busy after their own 
fashion. Miss Spring was making arrangements 
for the reception of the Professor. It happened to 
be her usual ^‘At Home” day, but what mattered 
that? All visitors, with the exception of Professor 
Power, were to be denied. From four to six o’clock 
she would devote herself to him, and to him only. 

She knew a young girl of a modest and very re- 
tiring disposition, who was a distant cousin of her 
own, and who could accompany her fairly well. 
She sent a note to her early in the morning, asking 
her to come to her house not later than three. This 
girl’s name was Coralie Ransom. She was pretty, 
young and intelligent, and had a great admiration 
for Miss Spring. Miss Spring often bestowed some 
of those dresses she was tired of on little Miss Ran- 
som, who was by no means too proud to accept them. 
She was clever with her needle, and remodelled 
them to fit her own juvenile figure. Coralie saw 
300 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 301 


charms in Miss Spring’s faded and got-up face. She 
believed in her thirty-five years, and as to her music, 
she thought it simply divine. 

When she arrived on the present occasion. Miss 
Spring met her in a wonderful robe of deep violet 
velvet. It was a sort of tea-gown, made to fit her 
really elegant figure, trimmed simply with very rich 
lace, and so designed as to exhibit the graceful curve 
of her arm. 

Miss Spring had arranged that Coralie, her ac- 
companist, was to be more or less invisible, and a 
curtain was drawn partly across the room so as to 
conceal the piano. 

"‘But this is quite an innovation,” said the girl. 
“Why this curtain ?” 

“I will tell you, dear,” said Miss Spring, who was 
in a state of inward trepidation. “The dear man 
who is coming to-day to listen to my music” — ■ 
(“and mine,” thought Coralie) — “has the greatest 
dislike to being watched. He is one of the deep 
thinkers of the age, and has, in short, such a dislike 
to women in general, and particularly to quite young 
women, that I do not want him to know that you 
are in the room. ■ You will play my accompaniment, 
and he will be unaware of the fact that you are 
there. When , the music is over you will discreetly 
withdraw by that door at the back of the curtain 


302 BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 


and leave him alone with me. You quite under- 
stand, Coralie. Afterwards, you and I will have a 
nice little dinner together, and go to the Opera. 
They are playing Lohengrin to-night, and you will 
enjoy that.” 

‘‘Oh, shan’t I!” said Coralie, clasping her hands 
in ecstatic fashion. “How good you are to me, dear 
cousin!” 

“Who would not be good to a pretty, dear little 
creature like yourself?” said Miss Spring, who was 
really fond of Coralie after her fashion. “Now, my 
child, we will go over our music together.” 

Miss Spring had made a very careful selection. 
She had avoided music which is termed classical, 
and had recourse to some settings of old ballads, and 
to passionate music of the olden times. She had 
watched the Professor to good purpose while she 
was at Hillside Rectory, and knew already what his 
tastes were. He was only musical in the sense that 
a man would be musical who heard the simple airs 
which brought back his early youth and childhood. 

Miss Spring was an adept at improvisation, and 
Coralie Ransom had the power of accompanying 
her almost at will. 

“The merest little touch, dear,” said Miss Spring, 
“when I improvise — just a chord here and there to 
sustain the melody — nothing much, something very 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 803 


quiet, very soothing. I will always tell you the right 
key, and you will get on, I know you will.’’ 

“Oh, of course,” said Coralie : “how wonderful 
you are ! But I should like to see the great Profes- 
sor Power. I have read some of his books, and 
delight in them.” 

“You may look at him, if you like, through the 
curtain, love. I should be glad to have your opinion 
afterwards. His is a massive head and face. He is 
endowed with a great intellect, and it is my mission 
to soothe and sustain his weary soul.” 

“Yes, yes; I am sure of it,” said Coralie, whose 
name suited her brilliant cheeks and red lips, and 
whose little round, fair, dimpled face was in itself 
like a ray of sunshine. 

Coralie was decidedly very pretty, and being only 
just eighteen. Miss Spring was fully justified in 
keeping her charms hidden. 

Meanwhile, Professor Power forgot all about 
Miss Spring and his engagement with her that 
afternoon. His few days’ rest in the country had 
refreshed him, and made him all agog to be hard at 
work once more. There was a mass of letters to be 
attended to, and Miss Hughes was happy in reply- 
ing to them. She had arranged that her friend, Mr. 
Halbert, should arrive at three o’clock. By that 
time the bulk of the Professor’s work would be 


304’ BETTY OF THE EECTOEYi 


over. He would be inclined for meditation. She 
could slip into the ante-room and accompany Hal- 
bert on the old piano. But — alack and alas! ‘‘The 
best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley.*' 
At a quarter to three there came a note for Miss 
Hughes in Halbert’s writing. 

She tore it open, and read, to her bitter disap- 
pointment, that a sudden engagement of a very 
lucrative nature which had only been offered to him 
that morning had obliged the musical artiste to leave 
London for Paris, and that he could not expect to 
be back for at least a fortnight. 

Miss Hughes got very red and looked decidedly 
angry when she read this letter. She felt even in- 
clined to stamp her foot. The Professor, who had 
finished his work, and was resting in a chair, ob- 
served her. He was never curious about anything, 
and he would not have been curious about her but 
for the fact that her face grew very red and she 
seemed much annoyed. He would not dream of 
asking her what her letter was about, for he consid- 
ered letters sacred things that ought not to be pried 
into. But it suddenly occurred to him that in all 
probability she was tired and wanted rest. 

“Now, my dear good soul,” he said, “there is 
nothing more for you to do for me this day. I 
have a — at least, I think I have an engagement for 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 305 


this afternoon. Let me see: I always write things 
down in my memorandum book.'' 

He rose from his seat. The memorandum book 
lay on the table near by. Miss Hughes felt inclined 
to snatch it away and put it into hiding. But where 
was the use? How much poor women have to en- 
dure ! How dreadful for Halbert to disappoint her ! 
Why had she only offered him five shillings an hour 
for his services? 

She felt herself trembling on the brink of tears, 
for the Professor had looked in his book and noted 
his appointment with Miss Spring. 

“Yes," he said, “we both need rest; you in your 
way, I in mine. I am going to listen to a little music 
— that sirnple music that gave me such intense pleas- 
ure when I was at Hillside Rectory — at four o’clock 
this afternoon. Miss — Miss — what is the lady’s 
name ? Oh, yes, I recall it — Miss Spring is going to 
play. Her playing is quite charming — not that I 
particularly care about the woman, but her playing 
is delightful. Now, you must go and have a holi- 
day. Don’t think of work any more to-day. Just 
forget me and all our toils together, and come back 
refreshed, like a dear good soul, to-morrow morn- 
ing. I shan’t need you again to-day. I expect to 
have a really very pleasant time." 

“Oh," said Miss Hughes, “I ’’ 


306 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


“What is it, my dear madam ?” 

“I — I can’t help it — I wish you wouldn’t go.” 

“You — wish — that I should not hear a little music 
which recalls the past?” 

“Forgive me,” said Miss Hughes, recovering her- 
self : “I ought not to have said it.” 

“You certainly ought not. But I can see that you 
are sadly overtired. Go and have a rest. I could 
even be induced to allow you a holiday to-morrow if 
the music is exceedingly attractive.” 

“Oh, I know I shall be perfectly rested by to-mor- 
row,” said Miss Hughes. “Please, Professor, don’t 
think that it is rest to me not to work for you.” 

“My dear, good creature — but of course my work 
fatigues you. Now go: please do go. Your per- 
turbed face is quite agitating.” 

Miss Hughes went. The Professor sat for a 
little longer in his deep armchair. He had been 
working very hard, and was really tired. But he 
was puzzled. Women were kittle cattle. He did 
not at all like Miss Spring for herself, and he 
heartily liked Miss Hughes — that is, he found Miss 
Hughes quite an agreeable, useful, self-sacrificing, 
unobtrusive sort of person; whereas Miss Spring 
was a mass of affectation. But then. Miss Spring 
could rest him when he was tired, and Miss Hughes 
could not. He had never liked Miss Hughes less 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 307 


than he liked her to-day when she begged him not 
to take the very simple enjoyment which he meant 
to give himself; and of course a gentleman never 
broke his word to a lady. He wondered a little; 
then forgot all about Miss Hughes, and at ten min- 
utes to four got into a hansom and drove to Miss 
Spring’s flat 


CHAPTER XXII 


Professor Power prided himself on never keep- 
ing a lady waiting; and at four to the minute he 
was ushered into Miss Spring’s presence. 

Little Coralie Ransom, skilfully concealed behind 
the heavy plush curtain, was as though she did not 
exist. Miss Spring came forward. 

“This is delightful. Professor!” she said. “And 
what a merit is punctuality !” 

“It is essential, madam,” said the Professor, “if 
one wants to do anything in life. The number of 
golden hours that are wasted by unpunctual people 
is past counting.” 

“How tired you look I” said Miss Spring ; but she 
saw at a glance that her remark did not quite please 
the Professor, and added : “I will give you a cup of 
tea, and then we will begin.” She poured out tea, 
which the Professor drank. As he did so, he be- 
came self-absorbed. He forgot all about Miss 
Spring and the room in which he found himself. 
Agitation stole into his face, and his loft}^ serene 
brow looked less serene than usual. 

“Can you furnish me, madam,” he said, “with a 
308 


BETTY OF THE RECTOKY 309 

note-book — any sort of note-book — and a pen and 
ink?” 

Miss Spring was rather surprised at this request, 
but, ringing a bell, she desired the servant to bring 
the Professor what he required. 

*T left out the whole of one side of an important 
argument in the dissertation I was writing this 
morning,” said Professor Power. “You will for- 
give me for a few minutes. I do wish I had a 
shorthand writer here. Do you by any chance un- 
derstand the art ?” 

“Alas! no,” said Miss Spring. 

“My secretary is an admirable shorthand writer,” 
said the Professor; and Miss Spring felt that she 
hated Miss Hughes with a deadly hatred. 

The Professor looked at her meditatively. 

“I wonder ” he began. 

“This will never do,” thought Miss Spring. “In 
another moment he will desire me to send for the 
woman: that is more than I can stand. Really, 
great and delightful man that he is, it is tiresome of 
him to come to my house and to expect me to do 
shorthand for him.” 

Miss Spring thought quickly. The Professor, 
leaning back in his deep chair, began to write. He 
was not accustomed to writing his own work. He 
could have dictated it with perfect ease; but then 


810 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


there was no one to dictate it to. The woman in 
the velvet dress was, he said to himself, more or less 
of a fool. - But — what? The pen dropped from his 
hand. The paper on which he was writing slid to 
his knee. He gazed thoughtfully into the fire. The 
tired look fled from his face. He was back in the 
old days, for Miss Spring had begun to play very, 
very softly the gentlest, most soothing rendering of 
‘‘Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doone.’^ 

The Professor found a lump rising in his throat. 
He forgot his dissertation, the incomplete argu- 
ment, the lapse which must have occurred in his 
memory that morning. He recalled old days, when 
he was a little boy, and his Scotch mother had 
walked with him by just such banks and braes. The 
smell of the heather was in his nostrils, and the 
sight of the babbling stream was before his eyes. 
It was as though the hand of bygone youth were 
laid once more upon his forehead. He was not a 
tired, overworked, oppressed, and, in many ways, 
disappointed man: he was a boy, with the rosy 
glow of hope and youth surrounding him. 

Miss Spring glanced once or twice into his face, 
and smiled to herself. She played on, gliding insen- 
sibly from one charming melody to another; the 
songs of Ireland, the songs of Scotland, the best 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 811 


known melodies of England were all rehearsed once 
again for the benefit of one rather tired old man. 

Miss Spring had the facility of throwing her soul 
into what she did. In exercising her great gift of 
music she even forgot the fact that she was playing 
to her other half. She was playing for herself. At 
last the Professor put up his hand. 

“It is enough, dear madam,” he said. “I thank 
you.” 

He rose from his seat. But this was Miss 
Spring’s opportunity. She could not let it pass. 
There was a swift signal to Coralie, who had really 
much aided the musical entertainment. Coralie 
slipped away from the room, and Miss Spring and 
her other half were alone. She sat down very 
quietly. 

“Don’t go yet,” she said. “The echo of the music 
is still in my ears, and, I doubt not, it is in yours. 
Don’t go into the noisy, crowded streets. Stay and 
rest a little longer.” 

“You have brought me back from a very long 
way,” said Professor Power. “I thank you with all 
my heart.” 

He looked at her. She was a wonderful woman. 
She was sitting in such a position that only the rose- 
colored shade of a lamp cast a glow over her face, 


312 BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


and that glow seemed to obliterate her many wrin- 
kles and to take years from her age. 

“I donT know how to thank you,” repeated the 
Professor. 

“There is one way in which you can,” replied the 
lady. 

“And what is that?” he asked. “Is there any 
small thing I can do for you ?” 

“Yes, there is,” she replied. “You can come 
again to-morrow. I will play for you again to-mor- 
row.” 

“I will come,” said the Professor. “But that 
seems a small way of thanking you. It only puts 
me under a deeper obligation.” 

“The obligation is on my side,” said Miss Spring. 
“You can scarcely comprehend what it is to play for 
one who understands as you do. To very few is the 
true soul of music given.” 

“I was never considered musical,” said Professor 
Power. 

“Ah, my good sir, those who said such things of 
you knew very little.” 

“You have brought my love of music out,” said 
the Professor. “Well, I must go now.” 

“At four o’clock to-morrow then,” said Miss 

spring. 

“Yes, dear madam; at four to-morrow.” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 313 


The Professor went away. He hailed a hansom 
and drove back to his house in Keppel Street. On 
the way home he whistled the air of “Annie Laurie’' 
under his breath. He did not whistle well, but the 
exercise pleased him. During the rest of the even- 
ing he forgot all about that paper which he was writ- 
ing for the Edinburgh Review. He could only think 
of old times. 

During the night the melodies Miss Spring had 
played for him accompanied him through his dreams. 
He had never married, but he had in reality a big 
and tender heart. His mother had died when he 
was a comparatively elderly man, and in her life- 
time he had never needed any other woman’s soci- 
ety. He had a little sister once, who had now been 
in her grave for long years. He could not recall his 
father. 

Since his mother’s death domestic life had never 
appealed to him. He did not think of marriage at 
all. He did not think of women at all. The first 
woman who had really stirred his heart was Betty 
Pevensey. But now there was someone who caused 
the echoes of the past to return to him. They sur- 
rounded him. The veil was lifted. Old times had 
come back. 

When Miss Hughes returned the next morning 
to her usual work, she found the Professor seated 


314 BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


in a tattered armchair by the unswept hearth, mur- 
muring to himself some words written by a dead- 
and-gone poet. The words were these: 

“Had we never loved so kindly. 

Had we never loved so blindly ; 

Never met, or never parted. 

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.” 

The Professor had a deep» and sonorous voice, 
and the words of extraordinary meaning fell upon 
Miss Hughes’ ears as a sort of knell. She came in 
briskly. The Professor turned to her. 

“I feel sentimental to-day,” he said. “I am ever 
so much better — quite rested, in fact. I am going 
there again this afternoon — four to the minute. She 
is a wonderful woman. I never heard such music. 
It really is a divine gift. The rolling back of the 
curtain, the restoration of youth, to see oneself 
young, with all a man’s experience to aid one in the 
vision, is a sight worth beholding. I must be there 
sharp at four. Had we never loved so blindly ” 

“It occurred to me. Professor,” said Miss Hughes, 
trying to steady her voice, “that in your paper of 
yesterday you had not quite explained your new sys- 
tem of ethics with regard to ” 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


S15 


The Professor looked up at her. Scales seemed 
to drop from his eyes. 

‘^Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. Miss Spring 
receded into the background. Once more he was 
the philosopher, the thinker, the writer, who un- 
ravelled the secret recesses of the human heart. 

‘‘Did you send that paper?” he said. “Did you 
post it?” 

“I did not,” replied Miss Hughes. “I took the 
liberty, Professor Power, to keep it back. One day 
cannot greatly matter. On reading it over I saw 
that you had missed one side of the argument.” 

“You are a good creature — excellent!” said Pro- 
fessor Power. “You shall sit here and read it aloud 
to me. Never met — and never parted — I must really 
rouse myself. Miss Hughes. I am absorbed with 
those old songs — those unforgotten, never-to-be-for- 
gotten melodies. Yes, yes — begin, begin. My dear 
good friend, what should I do without you !” 

‘T — dear good friend indeed !” thought poor Miss 
Hughes; “and he is going to her again this after- 
noon ! The thing becomes unbearable. I shall have 
to open his eyes — and yet — I dare not. The Profes- 
sor is the best, the greatest of men, but there are 
liberties one dare not take in connection with him. 
Oh, what am I to do!” 

The Professor and Miss Hughes spent a busy 


aie BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 


morning. As soon as ever he became absorbed in 
his work he forgot Miss Spring and her music as 
completely as though these two important items in 
his present-day existence were not in the world. He 
was once again the absorbed thinker, the exalted 
writer. Miss Hughes exerted herself as she had 
seldom done before. But the morning’s work came 
to an end, and there were no possible means by 
which she could prevent Professor Power from go- 
ing to see Miss Spring. All her future was in 
jeopardy. 

With a woman’s penetration she saw that when 
Miss Spring had secured her prey she would render 
the dear Professor a miserable man. Miss Hughes 
said over and over to herself : 

“I don’t want him — not for a single moment : but, 
at the same time, she shall not have him — not if I 
can prevent it.” 

Suddenly Miss Hughes thought of Laura Peven- 
sey. Could she help her? Was it worth while 
invoking her aid? She was not like Betty, but she 
was at least clever, and kind, and true. It occurred 
to Miss Hughes that she might go to see Laura that 
afternoon. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


When Laura Pevensey returned home she found 
her mother ill. She was suffering, in fact, from a 
sharp attack of influenza, and Laura’s intention of 
“bearding the lioness in her den” was frustrated, 
for the time at least. 

She was seated, therefore, in the drawing-room, 
feeling restless, dissatisfied, and with many anxious 
thoughts with regard to Geoffrey and his wife, when, 
to her great astonishment. Miss Hughes was an- 
nounced. 

Miss Hughes entered in that quick, somewhat 
agitated way which usually characterized her. She 
was absolutely indifferent with regard to dress, and 
had forgotten to smooth her hair, and had put on 
her neat toque a little crooked. But Laura was the 
sort of girl who preferred to see people not too im- 
maculate in their appearance, or too fashionable. 
She liked Miss Hughes, and gave her a hearty wel- 
come. 

“How are you ?” she said ; “I am very glad to see 
you. My mother is not well, and I am staying 
indoors, although I long to be out. But the good 
317 


318 BETTY OF THE RECTOBY 


mater requires me to visit her from time to time, and 
I really don’t want to be selfish. I wish her to get 
well, too, as fast as she can, because we have sev- 
eral matters to talk over together. I hope you are 
not afraid of influenza, for I think Lady Pevensey 
has had a slight attack.” 

‘'Not in the very least,” said Miss Hughes. ‘T 
never take anything. I have no time,” she added. 

“Dear, dear!” said Laura. “How I envy you! 
What I suffer from is too much time. Miss Hughes, 
has it ever occurred to you — do take this comfort- 
able chair by the fire — has it ever occurred to you 
that the world is pretty evenly divided after all? 
There are the dull, dull rich people, and the interest- 
ing, overworked poor people. Now which would 
you prefer to be? I know where my choice would 
lie.” 

“I am quite happy in my life,” said Miss Hughes; 
“that is, if it is not taken from me.” 

“What can you mean by that? Your life taken 
from you! Is anyone preparing to assassinate 
you ?” 

Miss Hughes smiled faintly. Laura had served 
her with tea. The room was comfortable: the fire 
glowed warm: the lamp shed a soft light, and had 
it not been for the agonizing memory of what was 


BETTY OF THE RECTOEY ai9 


going on at Miss Spring’s flat the poor lady might 
have been absolutely happy. 

‘‘There’s the killing of the mind,” she said ; 
“there’s the ruining of the heart” 

“Oh, please don’t talk in metaphors,” said Laura. 
“What is wrong? Most people have a grievance, 
but I imagined that you were one of the few who 
did not indulge in the luxury.” 

“Nor did I. No, I was a happy woman; I worked 
hard; but I didn’t mind that.” 

“You speak in the past tense: are not you still 
a happy woman?” 

“That is just it: I am a very miserable one.” 

“What has happened?” asked Laura. “Do tell 
me. I find my life so dull that any story would be 
acceptable at the present moment.” 

“I have come to you. Miss Pevensey, for your 
help. It was in this house he met her.” 

“Now, indeed, this is truly exciting,” said Laura. 
“He — met — her! Who is he; and who is she?” 

“Can’t you guess ?” said Miss Hughes. “Did you 
not see for yourself when we were at Hillside Rec- 
tory how absorbed Professor Power was by Miss 
Spring’s music, and what a dead set Miss Spring 
was making at him? Oh, Miss Pevensey, don’t 
laugh at me! I have worked for long years now 
for that most saint-like, that kindest of men. She 


S20 BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


will secure him if no one interferes. She is wiling 
him to her by the fatal power of her music. When 

he is her husband he will be wretched; and I ” 

The poor lady burst into tears. 

‘‘Don’t cry,” said Laura. “Tears never do a scrap 
of good. Tell me everything, won’t you, from be- 
ginning to end. I always liked Miss Spring, al- 
though I thought her an oddity; but really you 
speak as though she were a siren. Now, remember, 
I am quite in the dark. I did not notice anything 
very special at the Rectory: in fact, my mind was 
quite absorbed by other matters. Now, what have 
you to tell me?” 

Miss Hughes waxed eloquent. She described the 
Professor as he was before he knew Miss Spring. 
She described his condition that morning when she 
arrived to do her usual work. She told Laura 
where he was now disporting himself. 

“She will get him,” said the poor woman. 

“And would it be such a very dreadful thing if 
she did?” asked Laura. 

“She would not make him happy — I know it! 
Please don’t think I am selfish. I suppose I could 
get something else to do. But already she hates me, 
and I must honestly say that I detest her.” 

“This is really serious,” said Laura, after a 
pause. “But I think I can at least promise you that 


BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 321 


if any such thing as you fear were to occur, my sis- 
ter-in-law, Betty, could find work for you at the 
Rectory. You know Betty well — I think you love 
her?” 

'‘Who would not?” said poor Miss Hughes, and 
the tired look suddenly left her face. “Are you tell- 
ing me the truth ?” she added. 

“Yes, I believe I am — that is, were such an ex- 
ceedingly remote thing to happen as that the Pro- 
fessor should marry Miss Spring. But I tell you 
what I will do. I will drive straight off now to see 
my friend, and I will bring the Professor back to 
dinner with me. He loves having an evening alone 
with me now and then. We have been friends for 
a long time; and if I don’t open his eyes a little, I 
will at least manage to find out for you in what 
direction the wind really blows. Now, don’t be ner- 
vous; of course I will never for a single moment 
reveal to him that you have been to see me.” 

“You are a good soul — I knew you were good; 
and it occurred to me to-day that I could not do bet- 
ter than come to see you. As to your sister-in-law 
' — she is one of the sweetest women in all the world : 
but, to tell you the truth, I should not like to give 
up the dear Professor.” 

“I do not believe for a single moment that you 
will have to do so,^’ said Laura. “And now, good- 


322 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


bye; for if I don’t hurry I shall not catch Professor 
Power at Miss Spring’s.” 

Miss Hughes, much relieved, took her departure; 
and Laura rang the bell and desired the servant to 
order a hansom. She went up to her mother for a 
few minutes before going out. 

'‘Well, Madra, and how are you?” she asked. 
“Oh, I can see that you are much better. I want to 
have a little talk with you to-morrow morning — one 
of our straight talks, you understand; no getting 
out of it, dear. You know me well, don’t you?” 

Lady Pevensey looked up at her daughter with 
that silly, frightened expression in her eyes which 
often characterized her when she was alone with 
Laura. 

“I wish you were not so masterful, and so man- 
nish,” she said. 

“My dear, good mother, I cannot help the way I 
am made. But, I assure you, I am quite enjoying 
my life lately. I have so much to do in helping 
others.” 

“Well, you don’t spend much of your time with 
me,” replied the invalid. “If it were not for my 
novels, and the services of my maid, I should have 
a very dull time.” 

“I will see you again this evening. I am off to get 
Professor Power to dine with me.” 


BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


323 


"‘Really and truly, Laura! That is not correct. 
You will have the Professor — an unmarried man — 
to dine with you alone!” 

“Yes, darling, I think so,” replied Laura. “I be- 
lieve we shall have a very pleasant evening. And 
now, adieu.” 

Lady Pevensey sighed when her obstinate daugh- 
ter left her; but she had learned long before now 
that it was absolutely useless to oppose Laura in any 
way whatsoever. Laura ran downstairs. A han- 
som was waiting for her, and she drove quickly to 
Miss Spring’s flat. 

The time for the music was over, but the time for 
retrospect had not yet passed away. Coralie Ran- 
som had just let herself out by the front door as 
Laura arrived. 

“There’s no good in your telling me that your 
mistress is not at home,” said the determined young 
lady to the servant who opened the door. “I will 
find my own way to the drawing-room, so pray don’t 
announce me.” 

This she speedily did, and pushed aside a velvet 
portiere as the Professor was rising from his seat 
and was in the act of taking his hostess’ fair hand 
in one of his. The shaded rose light, the softened 
rich color of the dress she wore, the faint flush of 
excitement on the faded cheeks of the spinster had 


324 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


all an extremely becoming effect. Even Laura said 
to herself : ‘‘Caroline Spring looks almost like a 
girl.” 

She came in briskly. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said; “but I happened 
to hear that Professor Power was visiting you this 
afternoon, Caroline, and as I particularly want to 
see the Professor, I took the liberty of calling.” 

Laura’s voice, so animated and clear and ringing, 
seemed to permeate the room with a breath of fresh 
air. The Professor looked from the woman who 
was no longer young to the girl who was in her first 
bloom. He liked Laura, but then all her world did 
like Laura Pevensey. He held out his hand at once. 

“I have had a rare treat,” he said. “Miss Spring 
has been so kind. She has been playing for me. We 
have been in the past together : have we not. Miss 
Spring?” 

“In the delightful, the beautiful, the golden past,” 
said Caroline Spring. 

“Well, for my part,” said Laura, “I don’t care 
much about the past : I am so thoroughly happy in 
the present. And now. Professor, please, you’ve 
got to come home with me.” 

“Home with you — my dear lady?” 

“Yes; you have got to dine with me alone. Caro- 
line, there’s no use in your opposing. The thing is 


BETTY OF THE KEOTOKY 325 


settled. Mumsie’s in bed with the ’flue. I’m by 
myself. I won’t ask you, Caroline, for really, any 
more of the music of the past would make our good 
Professor incapable of work. I have some impor- 
tant matters to talk over with him ; and I know, Pro- 
fessor Power, you won’t be so ungallant as to refuse 
a lady.” 

"‘But do you insinuate that I am to dine with 
you?” asked Professor Power. 

“Most certainly you are : and I can promise that 
the dinner, although small, will be recherche/^ 

“But my dress!” The Professor looked down at 
his very shabby toilet. 

“I will excuse the dress,” said Laura, “for the 
pleasure of your company. The fact is, I want to 
talk to you a little bit about Betty and her husband, 
and — ^and about other matters. Now please come 
at once; for although I have plenty of money, I 
don’t care to keep a hansom driver waiting longer 
than is necessary. The fact is, he is too extortion- 
ate in his demands on such occasions.” 

“Oh, dear, dear!” said the Professor, who was a 
saving man, “that will never do. Yes, I will come 
immediately.” 

“And to-morrow I shall have the pleasure of see- 
ing you,” said Miss Spring. 

“Yes, yes — at least, I think so.” 


326 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


“You have not heard the ‘Lorelei’ yet,” said Miss 
Spring. “I have a special selection prepared for 
to-morrow.” 

“I will come, my good lady, if it is not trespassing 
too much on your time.” 

“That is impossible,” she replied, “when we both 
love the same things.” 

She gave Laura a glance which that young lady 
received with a broad wink of intense amusement; 
and the next moment the Professor was hurried into 
the lift and downstairs where the hansom was wait- 
ing for him. 

Laura, during her brief visit, had taken Miss 
Spring’s measure. 

“After all,” she said to herself, “it is just a ques- 
tion as to which of those poor women want Pro- 
fessor Power the most. I am strongly inclined to 
think that Caroline Spring may find her other half 
in another direction, and I could promote that, if 
necessary. But although Miss Hughes might be 
intensely useful to Betty, her niche is with the Pro- 
fessor, and I don’t mean her to be ousted from it. 
Yes, I think I can manage it.” 

Laura was a remarkably clever girl, and had her 
own way with regard to most things. She did not 
talk much in the hansom. What was the use of 
raising one’s voice and shouting when you could not 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 327 


be heard owing to the din of the traffic ? But when 
they got into the house she gave the Professor every 
comfort, and a new book to read until dinner was 
ready. The solitude of two did not in the least dis- 
compose either the elderly Professor or the up-to- 
date young lady ; and when the meal was over, and 
Laura had been to bid her mother good-night, she 
came downstairs resolved to put a spoke in Miss 
Spring’s wheel and to aid Miss Hughes to the ut- 
most of her ability. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Laura generally succeeded with what she did 
because she was never the least afraid either of her- 
self or of what she was about to say. She was 
frank, outspoken, and infinitely courageous. In 
consequence of these attributes everyone liked the 
high-spirited girl. There was not a scrap of affecta- 
tion about her. Men were at ease in her presence, 
for she was absolutely free from self-consciousness. 
Women liked her because she was never jealous of 
them. Only a few, her mother amongst them, con- 
sidered Laura little too mannish ; but Laura had not 
the least idea of departing from her own standard 
of what she considered right and agreeable for any- 
one living. 

Now when she drew her chair forward, she in- 
vited the Professor to smoke. 

‘‘Oh, not in your drawing-room, my dear Miss 
Laura,” was his remark. 

“Yes, if I give you leave,” was her reply. “Mums 
is better, but won’t be down for a day or two. Long 
before she can manage to come downstairs again 
the little perfume of your fragrant tobacco will have 

m 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 329 


departed. So light a pipe, dear Professor — or have 
a cigar, just as you please.’' 

The Professor hated cigars, and loved his pipe. 
He never went anywhere without his pipe, and 
accordingly, ere long, he felt very nearly as blissful 
in Lady Pevensey’s most elegant drawing-room as 
he had felt when Miss Spring was wafting him 
back to the ‘‘Banks and braes of bonnie Doone.” 
Laura watched him for a minute or two, then she 
said: 

“You did not smoke, did you, when you were at 
Miss Spring’s to-day?” 

He started, and took the pipe from his mouth. 

“Why, certainly not!” he answered. “I should 
not dream of smoking in the presence of a lady, 
unless, like yourself, my dear Miss Laura, she gave 
me leave.” 

“I mean to have a cigarette with you,” said Laura. 

She took a little box from the mantelpiece, pro- 
ceeded to light one, and smoked daintily. After 
another pause, she said : 

“I happen to know that Miss Spring detests the 
smell of tobacco.” 

“Ah!” said the Professor. He made no further 
response of any kind, and Laura sat still, enjoying 
her own little whiff of the fragrant weed. After a 
time she said ; 


830 BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


‘T presume you smoke a good deal at home, and 
that you never consider dear, kind Miss Hughes.” 

“I!” said the Professor, starting. '‘But I con- 
sider her invariably. She is an excellent creature.” 

"But you smoke in her presence, donT you?” 

"Yes — yes: she — she likes it.” 

"How lucky for you!” said Laura. "Some ladies 
can’t bear it.” 

"To tell the truth,” said the Professor, moving 
restlessly in his chair, "I have never consulted her. 
I have smoked for years when she was by, and she 
has not complained.” 

"I am sure she likes it,” said Laura, with em- 
phasis. "She is the sort of woman who would. I 
think I will send her by you a little box of cigar- 
ettes. I have some of a very mild sort.” 

"I don’t think she would care for them,” said the 
Professor. "I really feel as if I ought not to finish 
this pipe, my dear young lady.” 

"You will be a great goose if you don’t. Profes- 
sor, for I adore the smell, and the nice, cloudy sort 
of glamour which tobacco smoke makes in a room. 
The fact is, I am a very mannish girl, and mother 
doesn’t at all appreciate me for it.” 

"You are a remarkably nice girl,” said the Pro- 
fessor. Then he got very red, for it was not his 
way to pay compliments. 


BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 331 


‘‘What a charming woman Miss Spring is!” said 
Laura, after a pause. 

The Professor looked at her with a puzzled ex- 
pression between his eyes. 

“Miss — Spring — charming?” he said. 

“Yes, don’t you find Caroline Spring charming? 
I should have thought there was no doubt whatever 
with regard to your view on the matter.” 

“I like her music very much,” said the Professor. 

“But she — the lady herself,” continued Laura; 
“you cannot dissociate her from her music, can 
you ?” 

“The fact is — I do,” said the Professor. “Miss 
Spring, without her violin, is ” 

“What?” asked Laura. 

“A lady, my dear Miss Laura, of — well — of — of 
uncertain age” 

Laura laughed. 

“And when she plays those ravishing airs ?” 

“I forget all about her; I only listen to the music.” 

“That’s rather hard on her,” said Laura. 

“Hard on her ! She likes to play for me. I must 
give her the credit of being exceedingly good- 
natured.” 

Laura rose from her seat. 

“You are a very blind old man. Professor Power,” 
she said. “Now, why don’t you, when you want 


332 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


music, go to Queen’s Hall, or some other place 
where you will hear the finest music in the world?” 

“But that’s just what I don’t want. I hate the 
finest music in the world. I want the simple lovely 
airs that Miss Spring renders so divinely.” 

“All right,” said Laura. “You are quite right: 
she does play beautifully. Nevertheless, please re- 
member that without her music she is a lady — of 
uncertain age: and — dear Professor — you can’t go 
to see her every day, for you know that people — • 
will ” 

“That — what?” said the Professor. His face 
turned crimson. He dropped his pipe. Laura 
stooped, calmly took it up and gave it back to him. 

“That Mrs. Grundy will have her little say,” re- 
marked the young lady in a cheerful tone. “But I 
don’t suppose you mind that a bit, do you?” 

The Professor resumed his smoke. He was 
absolutely silent. After a time he turned the con- 
versation by asking Laura some question with re- 
gard to Betty and her husband. Plow was Peven- 
sey? Was he better? What was wrong? 

But Laura refused to tell him that anything was 
wrong. 

“Things will be right very soon,” she answered, 
and her young face grew grave as she uttered the 
words. 


BETTY OE THE HECTOEY 333 


By-and-by Professor Power got up and made his 
adieu. He went back to his house in Keppel Street, 
and, truth to tell, did not go to bed until a late hour 
that night. On the contrary, he paced up and down 
his study, deep in meditation. 

‘'Mrs. Grundy! — a lady of uncertain age!’' He 
must not go to see her every day. People would — 
would talk, talk — talk — about him! 

Before he retired for the night, he wrote a brief 
letter to Miss Spring. 

"Dear Madam : — I thank you for the pleasure I 
have enjoyed in listening to your divine gift, but 
find it impossible, owing to stress of work, to come 
to see you again.” 

He thought for a little time of adding the words 
"for the present,” but finally left them out. He 
signed the letter, "Yours sincerely, James Power. ’’ 

The next morning, when Miss Hughes arrived on 
the scene, he said to her, in a casual manner : 

"By the way, I have not all these years once asked 
you if you objected to my constant habit of 
smoking.” 

"I love you to smoke,” said Miss Hughes. 

"Then that is all right. I happened to dine yes- 
terday with young Laura Pevensey. What a fine 


334 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


girl she is; but a little advanced — don^t you think? 
— in her views. She absolutely smoked a tiny cigar- 
ette herself, and sent a packet to you through me. 
There it is.” 

“Oh, I have a horror of women smoking,” said 
Miss Hughes. “It was very kind of Miss Peven- 
sey, of course, but ” 

“By the way. Miss Hughes, you can leave the 
cigarettes unsmoked. I agree with you; I prefer 
the lady who does not smoke, but who likes her 
male companions to indulge in the luxury. I mean 
to be very busy for some little time, and shall re- 
quire your services until five o’clock for the next 
week. We will make some difference in the pay, my 
good soul. Now, not a word. How admirably you 
suit me, Miss Hughes !” 


CHAPTER XXV 


Lady Pevensey was quite aware that Laura 
wanted to say something to her. She was very 
much afraid of her daughter at these times. There 
were often moments when grim Fear knocked at 
the heart of this worldly-minded woman. She 
could manage most people, but she had never yet 
been quite able to manage the bright, independent, 
gay young daughter who was so unlike herself in 
character. 

On the morning after the day when Laura had, 
as she hoped, arranged matters satisfactorily for 
Professor Power, she entered her mother’s bed- 
room, desired the maid to go away, and faced her 
parent. 

'T have been down at the Rectory. You know 
that, don’t you ?” 

^ YVhy, of course, Laura. How can you doubt it ? 
You came back and found your poor old mother 
ill.” 

“Yes; but you are quite well enough to hear me 
now. Geoff is in a most unsatisfactory state. The 
336 


336 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


promise which I made to you I don’t intend to keep 
any longer.” 

*Xaura, you would not make a promise and 
break it?” 

‘^Under the circumstances — yes,” said Laura, in 
her defiant voice. “You had no right ever to ask 
me to keep the secret which I obtained from you by 
a mere accident. Geoffrey shall see the photo- 
graph, and read the letter, before many hours are 
over. Oh, yes, mother, you can bear it: don’t tell 
me that you can’t. The thing is killing Geoff, but 
it shall never kill me. Geoff will be all right when 
his mind is relieved of an intolerable load. I mean 
to set his mind at rest, and I am going out now in 
my motor-car to wire for them both to come to 
stay with us for a couple of nights. I will send 
such a message that Betty will get her husband to 
come; so prepare for a scene, my dearest mother. 
You will have a little bit of unpleasantness to go 
through, but you will be much happier when this is 
over.” 

“Laura! Laura!” called out her distracted mother; 
“you will not play me false? You know quite, quite 
well that you would never have got that secret but 
through an accident.” 

“I keep my word,” said Laura. “If you had not 
done what I know you did before Geoffrey’s mar- 


BETTY OF THE REGTOEY 337 


riage I should never have troubled about it — there 
seemed no necessity. But as you acted in the way 
you did, there is nothing for it now but to tell Geoff 
and Betty the simple truth. There, mother, I have 
made up my mind. I will save Geoffrey, come what 
may.” 

Laura left the room. Lady Pevensey lay back on 
her pillows. Her heart was beating fast. What 
was she to do with such a terrible, such a tempestu- 
ous, such a determined daughter? 


CHAPTER XXVI 


said Betty, early in the afternoon of 
that same day, ‘‘here’s a telegram from Laura.” 

The Rev. Geoffrey Pevensey was in his study. 
He had fought so far with grim temptation, and had 
not failed, but each moment the power to abstain 
from the one thing which gave his tortured mind 
relief seemed to grow weaker and weaker. The 
very fact of being more or less occupied with 
the poor and suffering added to his own mental 
distress. But for Betty, who walked with him, 
talked to him, read with him, was always bright, 
and always apparently happy, he must have suc- 
cumbed long since. 

Now she came briskly forward. 

“This is from Laura,” she said. “Read it.” 

The message was short, as telegraphic messages 
mostly are. It ran as follows : 

“Please come to town by next train. Have some- 
thing very important to tell you both. — Laura 
Pevensey.” 


338 


BETTY OF THE KECTORY B39 

^We can’t possibly go, Betty,” said the Rector. 

‘‘But why not ?” said Betty. 

Pevensey mentioned several important engage- 
ments which he had for that evening. 

“We must think first of my duty here,” he said. 
“It seems no time since I was in town. Whatever 
happens, I hope I shall never neglect my parish.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Betty, speaking in her quick, 
earnest way, “I think this telegram ought to be 
attended to. Laura is the last person to wire for 
nothing at all. She wants us; and we ought to go.” 

“Well, darling,” said her husband; “you can go.” 

“No, Geoffrey,” she replied. She laid her hand 
on his shoulder. ‘T will not leave you alone; you 
must come with me.” 

“But there’s the choir practice, and the new or- 
ganist is the reverse of satisfactory, and Mr. Jessop, 
our fresh curate, is to preach for the first time at 
our evening service. I promised to be present in 
order to introduce him afterwards to some of the 
sidesmen. It is very inconvenient. Another day 
will do. After all, I know Laura better than you 
do, Betty.” 

“The messenger is waiting for a reply,” said 
Betty ; “I do wish you would come ; and I can easily 
look up a train,” she continued. “We can just hear 


340 BETTY OF THE KECTOKY 


whatever Laura wants to say and return to-morrow 
morning.” 

The Rector looked disturbed. He did not want 
to disappoint his wife, but he wondered why she 
was so anxious that he should go to London. Just 
at that moment, while they were debating over the 
reply to the telegram, there came again the swift 
and familiar telegraphic knock at the Rectory front 
door, and Helen entered, bearing two fresh little 
yellow missives on a salver. 

“It never rains but it pours,” said Betty. 

The Rector desired the last telegraph messenger 
to wait. Helen left the room, and he tore open the 
yellow envelopes. One was from McDermot. 

“Your sister has met with an accident. Come to 
London by next train.” 

The second telegram was from Lady Pevensey. 

“Awful trouble. Laura very ill. Come imme- 
diately, both of you.” 

Pevensey looked at Betty. Her face had grown 
white. She was clinging to the rail of a chair. 
Now she sank into her seat. 

“I have had dreadful dreams of late about Laura,” 
she said. “Oh, Geoffrey, dear, we must give up 
everything and go.” 

“Of course we will go,” said the Rector. “This 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 341 

alters matters. Get the time-table, Betty. We’ll 
look up the first possible train to London.” 

While Betty was searching for the time-table, 
the Rector himself answered the two telegrams. 
He assured the surgeon, McDermot, and also his 
mother, that they would be at Lady Pevensey’s 
house that evening. Betty called out the trains. 

“If we start in an hour from now we can get to 
London by ten o’clock to-night,” she said. 

The messages were despatched, and the Rector 
went off to make what arrangements he could with 
regard to his clerical duties. It seemed to him as 
he walked through the dismal streets of Dartminster 
that a change, unexpected, impossible to define, was 
about to take place, and that the hand of his gay, 
brilliant young sister was to achieve it. Temptation 
seemed far off and remote. A new sense of manli- 
ness was already inspiring him. He could not help 
thinking : “Oh, if I could get rid of that intolerable 
fear, that maddening curse, and devote myself with 
all my best energies to the work of this great parish.” 
He was not really nervous about Laura, but he now 
wanted indescribably to be with her. 

When he came back to Betty he looked more like 
himself than she had seen him for a long time. 

“The accident cannot be much,” he said, as they 
were being whirled to town. 


842 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


Betty said nothing. She did not agree with Geof- 
frey. McDermot would not have wired if there 
was no cause. Lady Pevensey’s telegram might 
doubtless be an exaggerated statement, but the sur- 
geon’s view of the illness was fraught, to Betty’s 
sensitive heart, with disaster. 

^‘Dear Laura,” she kept saying constantly to her- 
self. 

It so happened that there had been a long delay 
in the delivery of the first telegram, consequently 
all three had reached the Rectory practically at the 
same time. But neither Pevensey nor his wife 
knew anything about that. 

When, between ten and eleven that night, they 
arrived* at Lady Pevensey’s house in Mayfair, the 
poor lady, who had come downstairs and forgotten 
her influenza, met them. 

“Ah, here you are!” she said, and she took the 
hand, first of her son, then of her daughter-in-law. 
“Come in! come in! I knew of course you would 
come. This is too awful. When I last saw Laura 
she was well and strong as I have seldom seen her ; 
very obstinate, too — but that she always was. Oh, 
how mysterious are the dealings of Providence!” 

Lady Pevensey’s dress was in great disorder. Her 
hair, generally so beautifully arranged, was untidy. 
Her face was flushed. Pevensey, who in moments 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY 343 


of trouble was always at his bqst, took his mother’s 
hand and led her into the drawing-room. 

“Betty and I have come,” he said. “You don’t 
look well yourself.” 

“Well,” said poor Lady Pevensey, bursting into 
tears, “I have been at death’s door : but what can 
one do when one’s own child — one’s very own child 
— is — is — dying ?” 

“Dying, mother! — what can you mean?” said 
Pevensey. 

Betty’s face turned very white. 

“How can I bear it!” said the poor woman. “I 
am nearly distracted. Laura would go out in her 
motor, and of course the horrid thing skidded. The 
accident took place close to St. George’s Hospital, 
and she was carried there at once. Mr. McDermot 
has been here — ^you know he is on the staff at St. 
George’s — and told me that her spine was injured. 
She came to herself almost directly, however, and 
said that on no account was she to be brought home. 
She is the very queerest girl. It seemed so strange 
to me that a child of mine should be ill and in hos- 
pital.” 

“But it is the very best place for her,” said Peven- 
sey. “Tell me all you can about her quickly, mother. 
Betty will look after you; but I must go to Laura 
at once/' 


344 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


“That queer Mr. McDermot thinks badly of her,” 
said Lady Pevensey; “not that he has said it in so 
many words, but I am convinced that he does think 
very badly of her. I have the very strangest thing 
of all to tell you now. She has been asking over and 
over to see you, Geoff, and she also inquired for 
Betty, but she won’t see me — she won’t see her own 
mother. Ill as I was, I went in my brougham to the 
hospital, but the only reply I got was that the doc- 
tors have strictly forbidden her to be excited. You 
will go to her, late as it is, Geoff. I don’t know 
whether you will be allowed to see her, but if you are 
admitted, speak to her on account of her conduct. 
It is so unnatural of her not to wish to have her 
own mother with her when she is so alarmingly, so 
dangerously ill.” 

“Of course I will do my best, mother,“ said 
Pevensey. “Can you get a hansom called for me? 
It is 'late, and I ought not to delay.” 

Betty looked at her husband in wonder. He had 
looked so ill and worn during the journey, but now 
his dejection had vanished. There was the most 
terrible news, and yet that very news had roused 
him, had caused him to cast off the mantle of intense 
depression which had rendered his life such a bur- 
den. He was once more the stalwart young Briton, 
the brave, noble, sympathizing priest who had won 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 345 


her young affections. His eyes were bright and 
steady. In his thought about Laura he had forgot- 
ten himself. Betty felt at that moment that she 
almost blessed Laura for having an accident. 

“Had I not better go with you, Geoffrey?’’ she 
said. 

“No, no, my dear! you must remain \tith me,” 
said Lady Pevensey. “I am weak and ill, and I 
have been alone all day, and I simply cannot bear 
things any longer. Geoffrey will go, and if he can 
he will see the poor child. I suppose he will be 
allowed to, as she has been calling for him from the 
first.” 

As Lady Pevensey spoke, she opened the door of 
Laura’s boudoir. It was not furnished in the 
young-lady style. It was bare of all attempt at 
ornamentation, and contained cricket bats, tennis 
rackets, hockey sticks, and other indications of 
manly sport. 

“You know Laura’s character,” began Lady 
Pevensey. “She would have a motor-car. How the 
accident occurred I cannot possibly tell, but it seems 
that when the car skidded it came in collision with 
a huge dray, and one of the wheels went over the 
poor child’s body. They say that her spine is in- 
jured.” 

“What?” cried Pevensey. 


346 BETTY OF THE RECTOEY 


“They say it is paralyzed, and Mr. McDermot 
quite hinted that there was danger.” Lady Peven- 
sey’s voice shook. “I don’t believe it,” she contin- 
ued. “No one as bright and full of life as Laura 
always is could be in danger. She has just got a 
bad shock and will get over it in a few days. Be- 
sides, the nurse says she is quite cool and collected. 
Since the first minute or two she has been conscious. 
That shows that her brain is not affected. Poor 
child, she was always different from others, and she 
shows her queerness now in refusing to see me, her 
mother. But go to her, Geoffrey. You must not 
mind any odd things she says. You ought not to 
allow her to speak much; but just persuade her to 
see me. Tell her, if you like, that I have something 
important to say to her.” 

“You understand, of course, what this means?” 
said Geoffrey. 

“Oh, now you’re beginning to look solemn; you 
want to frighten me out of my wits,” said Lady 
Pevensey. 

“No, I do not,” replied her son, sternly ; “but you 
must know the truth. If Laura’s spine is paralyzed 
there is no hope of her life. To conceal the truth 
would be wrong, mother, and I, for one, cannot 
do it.” 


BETTY OF THE BECTOBY 347 

Just for an instant his flashing dark eyes met 
those of Betty. 

‘T will go to Laura at once,” he continued, ‘‘and 
come back and tell you what McDermot thinks and 
what the opinion of the other doctors is. Betty, 
dear, you had better stay with mother.” 

“Very well,” said Betty. 

Lady Pevensey sank into a chair and began to 
weep feebly. 

“My poor Laura!” she said. “I don't believe it. 
Do you, Betty?” 

“Oh, people always exaggerate things, don't 
they?” said Betty, trying to speak cheerfully. 

Lady Pevensey was a woman who could not en- 
dure gloom. She could talk for hours about her 
own ailments, but the ailments of other people were 
a trial she could not sustain. The small flag of 
hope which Betty held out was enough to cause her 
to smile. 

“Yes,” she said; “you are quite right. I am glad 
you are with me. You're a very, very nice girl. I 
always admired you immensely. Your face is so 
bright, too, and you have such a pretty color. Dear 
Laura and I admire you greatly. Laura will be 
back with us in a few days, I am sure of that. But, 
Betty, there's just one thing I should say : how can 


348 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


you stand Geoffrey in some of his moods? Poor 
fellow — alas ! he must expect to be the victim . . 

Betty, who had been sitting down, now rose and 
went swiftly towards her mother-in-law. She took 
both her hands and held them firmly. 

“Never say those words again 

“What do you mean ?” said Lady Pevensey. She 
looked at Betty in alarm. 

“You know what I mean. Whatever you may 
happen to think about my husband, you are not to 
say your thoughts aloud either to him or to me. Do 
you hear 

“You frighten me,’’ said the lady. 

“Promise,” said Betty. 

Lady Pevensey began to cry. 

“Promise,” said Betty again. She held the two 
weak white hands with firmness. “I must have your 
promise,” she continued. “I will leave you if you 
don’t give it. I will go straight to St. George’s Hos- 
pital. I will follow Geoffrey. Laura has asked for 
me as well as for Geoffrey. Laura is worth fifty 
of you.” 

“Oh, but you dare not leave me all alone!” said 
the miserable woman. “Yes, I promise; of course, 
of course I promise. Poor, dear, brave Laura said, 
that I ought never to have told. Well, yes, I prom- 
ise I won’t speak of it. Don’t flash your e^es at 


BETTY OE THE BEOTOBY 


340 


me. Dear Laura was so angry with me only this 
morning. But now let us come into the next room 
and have some food.” 

‘‘Thank you,” replied Betty. “I am very hungry : 
I should like food.” 

Lady Pevensey took Betty's hand and led her into 
the dining-room. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


P^VENSKY could not account for his own sensa- 
tions. Perhaps, next to his wife, he loved Laura 
better than anyone in the world. She had been his 
friend, his best friend all his life. He remembered 
their childhood together, their happy times. She 
was younger than he by three years, but had always 
been somewhat old for her age, full of spirit, en- 
dowed with the essence of pure love for adventure. 
It seemed to him impossible that one so gay, so 
bright, should be lying now at the point of death. 
He could not realize it, and yet he did realize it fully. 

He had bade her good-bye a day or two ago with 
scarcely a thought, for that overmastering fear 
which possessed him kept him from thinking much 
of others. He was absorbed in himself. Now, that 
farewell seemed removed by a long cycle of time, put 
away, in fact, into immeasurable distance, and the 
present hour occupied the whole of the clergyman’s 
horizon. Only that morning he lived altogether for 
himself. He himself, in monster form, seemed to 
fill the great world. To-night there was no room 
for his own personality to come in at all. Laura 
350 


BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 351 


filled the world; Betty filled the world; his poor, 
weak mother, after a fashion, filled the world. 
Those who suffered, those who were about to die, 
required him, as a priest of the most high God, to 
come to their aid. He was coming; he would not 
hold back. He had no room for personalities, nor 
for fear in his breast. In short, the sudden blow 
had put Geoffrey Pevensey on his feet. He was 
himself — his own self once more — the self he had 
been before his mother had poisoned his mind and 
blotted out all hope from his horizon. 

He was taken at once to the private ward where 
Laura was lying. It was a cheerful room, well fur- 
nished, and with a bright fire in the grate. When 
Pevensey saw his sister he started, and the color 
flew into his cheeks. She looked bright, as though 
she were quite well; her eyes filled with a smile 
when she saw him. 

“Oh, there you are, you old darling!” she said. 
“I was just longing for you; come and sit by me, 
wonT you? Nurse, this is my brother; I should like 
to be alone with him for a little.” 

“Certainly, ma’am,” replied the nurse, withdraw- 
ing at once, and closing the door of the ward be- 
hind her. 

“Ah I” said Laura, with a sigh of exquisite pleas- 
ure, “I am so delighted to see you!” 


352 BETTY OF THE BECTOEY 


Pevensey was still conscious of the peculiar shock 
which the sight of his sister had caused him. He 
noticed with almost terror the color in her cheeks 
and the bright light in her eyes. She was ill — in 
danger — and yet she looked in radiant health. She 
was lying flat on her back, and lay very still. 

'‘Sit down by me, Geoff,” she said. 

He drew a chair forward and sat down without a 
word. 

"Why don’t you speak?” she said, her gay, brave 
eyes smiling at him. 

"My dearest Laura,” he said then. "My dear, 
dearest sister, this is quite too terrible. But, my 
dear, you don’t look ill, you look well — very well.” 

She gave a radiant smile. 

"I have no pain,” she said; "I feel nothing what- 
ever of discomfort, except that I cannot move, but I 
am paralyzed from below the waist. My back is, I 
believe, broken. There’s no hope for me. I got 
Mr. McDermot to tell me. I said I wished for the 
truth. He replied that I might linger for a day or 
two, but the paralysis was complete, and — rather 
high up. It has but to reach my heart, and then — 
then it will be all over, Geoff dear. Isn’t it a per- 
fectly splendid sort of death ! not an ache or pain — 
and to go away in your youth when you’re so full 
of enjoyment. I will say, on the whole, that I’ve 


BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


353 


had a right good time in life. I have been so strong, 
and so able for everything, and now nothing can 
possibly hurt me again, and I’ll be able to set you 
free, old boy.” 

‘^To set me free?” said her brother. “I don’t un- 
derstand.” 

‘'Never mind: I won’t talk of it now,” said 
Laura; “only just rest assured that I am as happy 
as happy can be! I am sure you never thought me 
a really religious girl, but somehow, I used to think 
a lot of your sermons, and when I was at Hillside 
Rectory I was so struck and amazed by your devo- 
tion to your cause, and more still by Betty’s way 
of going on. I do think, Geoff, she is a perfect 
brick! I never met anyone like her. The magnifi- 
cent way she behaved the day poor Jack Hinton 
died, and that evening of the explosion. Oh, I can- 
not possibly tell you what I think of your Betty.” 

“She is one of the finest creatures in the world,” 
said her husband, “but, after all, not finer than you 
are yourself, Laura.” 

“Oh, yes, she is,” said Laura. “She’s the sort 
who ought to live, who ought to be the mother of 
splendid sons and daughters, who ought to grow 
old, with her children and grandchildren surround- 
ing her. Whereas I — well, I am right glad to go 
while I am young and fresh. I never could get 


’354 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 


half enough life out of this old world, good as it 
is. I want to fly and do all sorts of things — impos- 
sible things in this life, but I believe they’ll be possi- 
ble in the Land to which I am going. You see, 
Geoff, old boy, the doctors put it before me very 
plainly, and they really made me feel intensely 
thankful. They say that if the injury to the spine 
had taken place a few inches lower down I might 
have lived on for years, but never, never be able to 
stir again. Think of such a fate for me — for me! 
who never could keep still all my life for half an 
hour. Oh, I was thankful — I am thankful! God 
has been good! To tell you the truth, Geoff, I feel 
almost inclined to laugh to get life over like this, 
and to — be — so glad about it, and then, it sets you 
free.” 

It was wonderful to hear Laura talk on in her 
bright voice, with a -gay, half -mocking accent, and 
know that she was really dying. Geoffrey Peven- 
sey, as a priest of the Church of England, had stood 
by many death-beds, but he had never seen anyone 
die as his own gay young sister Laura was dying. 
He felt the queerest mingling of intense, passionate 
regret, and yet of relief. Laura was never wrong 
about herself. Why should she be wrong now? 
Was not the best possible thing happening to her 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 355 


when she was about to go away in her youth and 
strength without pain and without a struggle ? 

But suddenly the Rector remembered his mother. 

‘‘Mother wants to see you,” he said. “She is 
troubled at your refusal to have her with you.” 

Laura’s face changed at these words. 

“You know what my mother is to me, Geoffrey?” 
she said, after a pause. 

“I know, darling,” replied her brother, “that you 
have always been very, very good to her.” 

“I have tolerated her until yesterday morning,” 
answered the girl; “now I ” 

“Don’t say it,” replied Geoffrey, with a quick 
movement ; “don’t soil your soul with unkind 
thoughts just on the eve of going to God.” 

She looked at him fixedly. Her face became very 
grave. After a time she said : 

“In no case is it possible for the end to come for 
several hours, but I shall do all that is necessary in 
the next few hours. Please come to me yourself 
early in the morning, and to-morrow night will you 
and mother and Betty come to me again ? I want to 
rest until then. I don’t know why, exactly, it hurts 
me to talk, but when I talk long I get breathless : I 
should like to rest between now and to-morrow 
evening. Will you all come to me then? and after- 
wards will you, Geoffrey, give me the Last Supper 


356 BETTY OF THE KECTORY 


of our Lord — the Beast of Beasts? I shall drink it 
new with you in the kingdom next time.” 

Geoffrey suddenly sank on his knees. He hid his 
dark head against his sister’s shoulder. 

'‘Oh, Laura!” he said, a sob in his throat. “The 
old days — the children’s life — the little joys! The 
old, old nursery! Oh, my little Laura — if I only 
might go with you!” 

“You will follow me, dearest, when your work is 
done,” she answered, still in that bright, triumphant 
voice. “Now go, darling. Go back to Betty.” 

Geoffrey left the room. He saw the nurse in the 
corridor. 

“Ah, poor young lady!” she said to him. “You 
are her brother, sir?” 

“Yes,” said Pevensey. 

“We never had such a patient before,” said the 
nurse, “so magnificently courageous, and so bright.” 

“Is there indeed no hope?” asked the clergyman. 

“No, sir; not the slightest; and perhaps, fortu- 
nately for Miss Pevensey, the end is very near, for 
the paralysis is high up. The wheel of the dray 
went right over the centre of her back; her lungs are 
already affected. When the paralysis touches the 
heart she must die.” 

“And nothing can be done ?” said Pevensey. 


BETTY OF THE BECTOKY 357 


'Tmpossible, sir, when, as you understand, the 
back is broken.” 

'‘How long?” asked the clergyman, in a smoth- 
ered tone. 

"She may live for twenty-four hours,” replied 
the nurse. 

"She has asked me to come again,” said Peven- 
sey. "I must be with her before the end; is it safe 
to leave her?” 

"If you will give me your address, sir, I will wire 
to you if there is the slightest change, but I know 
the doctors think that Miss Pevensey will live for 
several hours.” 

Pevensey left the hospital and went home. He 
found his mother and Betty together in the drawing- 
room. Betty’s face was pale, and notwithstanding 
her brave spirit, her eyes had a tired expression. 
Pevensey, on the contrary, looked quite fresh, and 
more like himself than Betty had known him for 
several months. He came in briskly. 

"Well,” said Lady Pevensey, "and did you see 
her? I hope the poor darling has repented of her 
strange prejudice against seeing me.” 

"She wishes to see you to-morrow night, mother, 
in company with Betty and myself.” 

"Not until then?” said the mother. "Why this 
delay ?” 


358 


BETTY OF THE KECTOEY 


‘Tt is her wish. She owned to being a little tired.’’ 

‘‘How did she look?” asked Betty. 

“Bright as I have ever seen her,” replied Peven- 
sey, “with a good color in her cheeks, and her eyes 
so brilliant — not a bit feverish, either — in excellent 
spirits.” 

Lady Pevensey rose from her low position by the 
fire. 

“There,” she said, “didn’t I say so? What a fuss 
these doctors do make about nothing! My dear, 
dear child isn’t hurt at all. What — what are you 
saying, Geoffrey?” 

Geoffrey Pevensey went up to his mother, and 
laid his strong hand on her shoulder. 

“Mother!” he said, “poor mother! You must 
bear it ; you must learn to. Laura was indeed never 
like other girls, and she is dying — yes, dying as 
unlike them in the hour of death as in life. There 
is not the slightest hope of her recovery. Oh, Betty, 
my darling, don’t cry!” For Betty, strangely over- 
come, her nerves strained to the utmost, had flung 
herself on her knees by a sofa and buried her face in 
her hands. 

“Oh, I can’t bear it!” she moaned, “I can’t bear 
it!” 

“Take her away, Geoffrey,” said Lady Pevensey. 

Her tone was cold, altered, frightened. 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 350 


“Take her away at once/’ she continued. “I can’t 
stand that girl’s grief ; I can’t stand that other peo- 
ple should make a fuss. Take her out of the room.” 

Geoffrey led Betty upstairs. They entered their 
bedroom, which poor Laura had taken such pains 
to render bright and attractive for them. The fire 
was lit, and the flowers, which Laura had herself 
arranged, stood on a little table near the sofa. 

“Oh, Geoffrey!” said Betty. “Why am I so 
weak? But I can’t help it. This is so fearful, so 
sudden.” 

“When you see her you will be quite calm,” said 
her husband. “I never saw anyone quite so splen- 
did. Oh, we shall miss her; but she will be in the 
best world of all for her. She really has a magnifi- 
cent nature, quite above all petty things. Betty, we 
must be thankful. Had the accident been a little 
less severe she might have lived to be old, but could 
never have moved again. Now, God is going to 
take her to Himself.” 

Betty covered her face, and trembled from head 
to foot. Geoffrey went downstairs to his mother. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


The next day Geoffrey sat alone with Lady 
Pevensey. All his depression with regard to him- 
self had completely vanished. He was so absorbed 
in others that his own life story, his own tempta- 
tions, his own ultimate fate, were forgotten as 
though they had never been. 

Lady Pevensey was in a queer and nervous state. 
She refused to see Betty, but clung to Geoffrey. 

“I don’t believe it!” she kept saying, “and what 
is more, I won’t believe it. No girl — no girl on 
earth could look well and yet be about to die. You 
saw her again this morning, and you say she has 
color in her cheeks ?” 

“Yes; her own splendid color, and her eyes are 
bright, very bright.” 

“And she is cheerful ?” 

“Yes, mother; almost gay.” 

“Now, you don’t suppose, Geoffrey, that I can 
stand any nonsense of that sort. You talk in a 
ridiculous fashion when you pretend to me that my 
Laura is dying. Geoffrey, dear, I have always loved 
her better — better than you know.” 

800 


BETTY OF THE EECTOBY ^61 

The young man felt inclined to say, “What a 
pity you did not show it to her more 

“I am not naturally an affectionate woman,” con- 
tinued Lady Pevensey. “I have the character of 
being cold by nature, and perhaps I am ; but I love 
Laura — I have always loved her. I — I have been 
proud of you, Geoffrey; anyone would be, for you 
are so handsome, and have such splendid gifts; but 
it was to Laura that I gave my love.” 

“Show it to her when you go to see her to-night,” 
said the young man. Then he added : “Poor 
mother! I pity you from my very heart.” 

“Don’t say that, and don’t pity me, and don’t call 
me ^mother/ ” she said, in a high-pitched voice of 
almost hysteria. 

The hours passed dismally. Betty in their room 
wondered how she could live through them. If she 
might only have her way! If only she might go to 
St. George’s Hospital to see her sister-in-law! But 
no ; neither her husband nor Lady Pevensey wished 
it. 

About five o’clock in the afternoon there came a 
message from the hospital which evidently dis- 
tressed Lady Pevensey much. It was a letter writ- 
ten by one of the nurses, and contained a brief 
message from Laura: “Bring the photograph and 
letter with you when you come,” 


m BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


“What is it, mother?” said her son, who was 
standing not far off. “Is — is Laura worse?” 

“No, dear; no,” said Lady Pevensey, looking up 
at him with ill-concealed terror in her eyes. “She 
has sent me a private message, dear child. I will 
write a line to her, reassuring her.” 

Lady Pevensey went to her davenport, wrote a 
word or two, fastened the note into an envelope, and 
desired the messenger to take it back to the hospital. 

As evening approached Lady Pevensey got more 
and more nervous. She refused to take any dinner, 
and finally said that she would rather Betty and her 
husband went to see Laura alone. 

“Why should I go?” she said. “Why should I 
go? You had best see her by yourselves. I would 
rather keep the image of her in her radiance and 
health than see her as she is now.” 

“Oh, but you will be sorry if you don't come. 
You will come, won’t you?” said Betty, who had 
now entered the room. And Lady Pevensey, 
strange to say, with her fitful and erratic nature, 
seemed to find more consolation from her than from 
her son. 

At a quarter to eight the little party entered Lady 
Pevensey’s carriage and were driven to St. George’s 
Hospital. Pevensey had brought with him all need- 


BETTY OF THE BEOTOKY 363 

ful preparations for that sacred service which Laura 
desired. The nurse met them in the corridor. 

'T am glad you have come, sir,” she said, just 
glancing at Betty and then at Lady Pevensey. ‘‘Miss 
Pevensey is sinking fast, and the doctors do not 
think she can last many hours. But she is in no 
pain, and is anxiously expecting you. She wants 
you, please, sir, to ask the good lady, her mother, to 
come to her first.” 

“Oh — I — I can’t,” said Lady Pevensey, shrinking 
close to Pevensey, and even grasping his arm. 

“Please, madam, come; that is, if you can keep 
quite calm,” said the nurse. “The young lady 
wishes for you; there is nothing at all to be afraid 
of in seeing her.” 

“Of course you will go,” said Betty; “and we will 
follow when we are sent for.” 

Lady Pevensey made a great effort to enter the 
sick-room alone. The door was closed behind her. 
Laura greeted her with that bright, frank smile 
which was all her own. 

“You see, mumsie,” she said, “it is no use, and 
now you will have to set him free.” 

Lady Pevensey fell on her knees and began to sob. 

“Poor mother!” said the girl. “I wish I could 
put my hand on your head, for it always did soothe 


364 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


you. But I — can’t — move it. I have not got — 
much strength. I just — want — your — promise.” 

“I — Baura — I — cannot !” 

‘‘Did you bring the photograph and letter, 
mother?” 

“Yes, I have them.” 

“You will put the envelope on the bed, won’t you ? 
Just lay it near me — by my pillow.” 

Lady Pevensey obeyed. 

“You’ll feel ever so much better when you have 
made a clean breast of it,” said Laura. “You can 
tell Geoffrey and Betty in your own way; they will 
understand, and they’ll be always good to you. They 
will forgive. Oh, mother, Geoff is such a splendid 
fellow! and you — ^you nearly wrecked him. When 
you told him that awful lie you nearly wrecked him 
body and soul. I guessed something was wrong 
when we were at the Rectory, and still more by his 
face when he came to see us in town. I questioned 
you, darling, and — I found out. Oh, why did you 
do it? I think I went nearly mad. Then — this 
happened. I am going, and there is nothing to keep 
the cloud over him any longer. Promise, mother.” 

Oh, how weak was the voice, but how courageous 
the face! how brilliant and beautiful the eyes! 

Lady Pevensey bent down and kissed the girl. 


BETTY OF THE EECTORY 


365 


That kiss was a promise. A minute later she went 
blindly out of the room. 

When Pevensey entered, accompanied by Betty, 
he saw at once that Laura was almost past words. 
Her interview with her mother had deprived her of 
her small remaining strength. He asked Betty to 
call the nurse, and then immediately administered 
those sacred rites of the Last Supper of our Lord. 
It was just when Laura was breathing almost her 
last breath that her eyes turned imploringly upon 
Betty, and those same eyes caused Betty to glance 
at the little packet lying on her pillow. When Betty 
saw the packet, Laura said: 

“Take it; open it — when you go home.” Betty 
took it, and Laura smiled. 

Laura Pevensey was dead. They called it death, 
although Pevensey was inclined to use another word 
with regard to it. It was, according to him, more 
like translation — a passing without pain, or fear, or 
terror, out of a land of many sorrows into one of 
perfect joy. 

“She died as she lived,” he said to his wife, as 
they were driving home. 

Lady Pevensey had got back some time before. 
They both forgot the little packet which Betty held 
in her hand. When they got to the house Betty went 


366 


BETTY OE THE BECTOBY 


straight to her own room, and Pevensey tapped at 
his mother’s door. There was no reply. He tried 
to turn the handle, but the door was locked. He 
then went back to his wife. 

Betty was standing by the fire, the most amazed 
expression on her face. She had opened the en- 
velope, and from within had dropped out a photo- 
graph and a closely-written letter. The photograph 
was of a dark-eyed handsome girl who could not 
have been twenty years of age. On the back of the 
photograph was written, in a handwriting which 
Betty had never seen before: 

‘‘My dear wife, Gwendolyn, and mother of my 
son, Geoffrey, passed from this life to a better — 
February i8th, i8 , aged nineteen years.” 

^‘Geojfrey!” said his wife. 

Geoffrey stared at the letter. His feelings were 
almost unfathomable. After a time Betty said : 

“There is a mystery which we have got to learn. 
Perhaps it is contained in this letter. Come, Geoff, 
let us read it. Oh, what a marvellous, marvellous, 
extraordinary day this is!” 

With their heads close together, the husband and 
wife read the letter, which was addressed to Lady 
Pevensey by Pevensey’s father: 

“My Dkar Wire;: — I die far from you” (the let- 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


367 


ter was dated from Calcutta), “and I wish you to 
give this letter to Geoffrey when he comes of age. 
The sad circumstances of his own mother’s death 
can then be revealed to him. I have yielded to your 
wish and concealed the fact that I was ever the hus- 
band of Gwendolyn Moss. She was the simple 
daughter of a simple farmer — a good, honest 
Scotchman, healthy in mind and body. But, consid- 
ering all things, I wish my little Geoffrey to learn 
his true parentage when he comes of age. I know 
that, by so doing, I cut him off from inheriting his 
share of your large fortune, but on the whole I 
think that the knowledge of truth is better for him 
than the possession of gold. I send you with this 
letter the last photograph I ever had taken of Gwen- 
dolyn. Do not be jealous of her, dear. She was 
beautiful, bright and good. Your pride of birth 
and your dislike to her relations cannot alter the 
fact that in every respect she herself was a perfect 
lady, wonderful for her years. She died at the birth 
of our boy ; and my sorrow for him is that he never 
knew, and never can know, a real mother’s love. 

“You will bring Geoffrey up as I directed that he 
should be brought up, and will do your very best 
for my sweet little daughter, Laura. You will not 
be angry, dear, if I tell you now, as a dying man, 
the very truth — that I loved Gwendolyn as I never 


868 BETTY OF THE EECTOKY 

loved any other woman. I hope to meet her In that 
place to which I am going so soon. Nevertheless, 
dear, my feelings for you are those of deep affec- 
tion and absolute trust. — Your faithful and affec- 
tionate husband, Geoi^i^r^y PkvEnsEy.’' 

“Oh, Geoffrey, Geoffrey!” cried Betty. “There is 
no dreadful curse hanging over your head, and you 
have nothing to fear. Oh, Geoffrey!” 

“She said this morning when I saw her,” re- 
marked the Rector, after a long pause, “that by her 
death she would set me free. But what an ex- 
traordinary, fearful thing for my mother to do!” 

“Not your mother, remember,” said Betty. “This 
is the picture of your mother.” 

She raised the photograph of the gallant-looking 
young Scotch girl to her lips. The Rector looked 
long at the face in the photograph and tears filled his 
eyes. 

At an early hour on the following day Lady 
Pevensey sent for Geoffrey. She made a full con- 
fession. She had always hated her husband’s first 
young wife. She was particularly proud of Geof- 
frey, who as a little boy was strikingly handsome, 
and she and her husband agreed that he was to be 
brought up as her own son. Neither Laura nor 
Geoffrey had any idea but that they were brother 


BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


369 


and sister. Lady Pevensey was a very rich woman, 
but her husband was comparatively poor. Gwendo- 
lyn, Geoffrey’s real mother, was also without for- 
tune. 

'T am going to leave England now,” said Lady 
Pevensey, in conclusion, ^‘that is, immediately after 
dear Laura’s funeral. What I told you about my 
family is perfectly true; the fatal malady only 
affects the male side of the house ; nothing has ever 
occurred to the women. It is true, that had Laura 
lived and married she might have gone through the 
agony of seeing the terrible curse perpetuated in her 
sons. As that is the case, doubtless there is consola- 
tion in her early death. My dear Geoffrey, I loved 
Laura best, but all my ambitions were centred on 
you. I hoped you would marry a girl of very high 
family — a girl who, I believe, was attracted to you. 
When you told me that you were engaged to Betty 
I was wild with fury, and it suddenly occurred to 
me that if I told you my family history you might 
break off the engagement. By-and-by, when Betty 
was married to someone else, I could unsay my 
cruel words. There, think of me as badly as you 
like ; that is the story. I yielded to temptation, and 
I have been a wretched woman ever since; but you 
are saved. Laura has saved you and Betty. She 
suspected something, and when she returned from 


370 BETTY OF THE EECTOEY 


Dartminster forced the truth from my lips. I can- 
not express to you — I never will tell you what she 
said. I believe I was unworthy of your father; of 
you, of her. I am a miserable, wicked woman. May 
God forgive me !’’ 

‘‘He will; He will, as I do, as Laura did,” said 
Pevensey ; and, kneeling by his stepmother, he swept 
his strong arms round her neck. 

Lady Pevensey has left England. At Hillside 
Rectory Pevensey and his wife live happily, and 
work hard, and rejoice in the peace of God, and the 
love of God, which passeth all understanding. Their 
hearts are knit to each other, and they have nothing 
to fear, either in this world or the next. 

Miss Spring has not yet secured her other half, 
and Miss Hughes continues to give Professor Power 
endless satisfaction. 


f 




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by some of the best American Artists, among whom arc' 
Henry Sandham, George Wharton Edwards, W. H. 
Drake, Harry Fenn, and Wm. Hamilton Gibson. Un- 
doubtedly the most elaborate and expensively printed 
edition of this greatest novel of modern times yet offered 
at a moderate price. 

Price, Boxed, One Dollar. 

THE SAME, in three quarter Crushed Morocco, gold 
tops and silk head bands. 

Price, Boxed, Two Dollars and Fifty Cents. 

THE SAME, Two Volume Edition, beautifully bound 
in crimson cloth, with colored tops, and a fac-simile of 
John Ridd*s coat of arms in ink and gold on the covers. 
Enclosed in a flat box. 

Price Two Dollars Per Set, 

THE SAME, Two Volume Edition, in three-quarter 
Crushed Morocco, with gold tops and silk head bands. 
Encased in a flat box. 

Price Five Dollars Per Set. 

Sent post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 

52 DUANE STREET :: :: NEW YORK 


THE GROSSET 6- DUNLAP EDITIONS 
OF STANDARD WORKS 

A FULL AND COMPLETE EDITION OF 
TENNYSON’S POEMa 

Containing all the Poems issued under the protection 
of copyright. Cloth bound, small 8 vo. 88-2 pages, 
with index to first lines. Price, postpaid, seventy-five 
cents. The same, bound in three-quarter morocco, gilt 
top, ^5^2. 50, postpaid. 


THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON AND HER 
TIMES, by Mrs. Roger A. Pryor. 

The brilliant social life of the time passes before 
tne reader, packed full of curious and delightful in- 
formation. More kinds of interest enter into it than 
into any other volume on Colonial Virginia, Sixty 
illustrations. Price, seventy-five cents, postpaid. 


SHAKESPEARE’S ENGLAND, by William Winter 

A record of rambles in England, relating largely 
to Warwickshire and depicting not so much the Eng- 
land of fact, as the England created and hallowed 
by the spirit of her poetry, of which Shakespeare is 
the soul. Profusely illustrated. Price, seventy-five 
cents, postpaid. 


THEODORE ROOSEVELT THE CITIZEN, by 
Jacob A. Riis. 

Should be read by evety man and boy in America. 
Because it sets forth an ideal of American Citizen- 
ship. An Inspired Biography by one who knows 
him best, A large, handsomely illustrated cloth 
bound book. Price, postpaid, seventy-five cents. 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers 
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK 


THE GROSSET 6- H UNLAP EDITIONS 
OF GARDEN BOOKS. 

Each volume in cloth binding. Price, postpaid, 75c. each. 

GARDEN MAKING, by Professor L. H. Bailey, 
Professor of Horticulture, Cornell University. 
Suggestions for the Utilizing of Home 
Grounds. 12 mo., cloth, 250 illustrations. 
Here is a book literally “ for the million ” who in broad 
America have some love for growing things. It is useful alike 
to the owner of a suburban garden plot and to the owner of a 
“ little place ” in the country. Written by the Professor of 
Horticulture at Cornell University it tells of ornamental gar- 
dening of any range, treats of fruits and vegetables for home 
use, and cannot fail to instruct, inspire and educate the reader. 

THE PRACTICAL GARDEN BOOK, by C. E. 
Hunn and L. H. Bailey. 

Containing the simplest directions for growing the common- 
est things about the house and garden. Profusely illustrated. 
13 mo., cloth. Just the book for the busy man or woman who 
wants the most direct practical information as to just how to 
plant, prune, train and to care for all the common fruits, flowers, 
vegetables, or ornamental bushes and trees. Arranged alpha- 
betically, like a minature encyclopedia, it has articles on the 
making of lawns, borders, hot-beds, window gardening, lists of 
plants for particular purposes, etc. 

A WOMAN’S HARDY GARDEN, by Helena 
Rutherfurd Ely. With forty-nine illustra- 
tions from photographs taken in the author’s 
garden by Prof. C. F. Chandler. 1 2 mo. , cloth. 
A superbly illustrated volume, appealing especially to the 
many men and women whose love of flowers and all things 
vreen is a passion so strong that it often seems to be a sort of 
primal instinct, coming down through generation after genera- 
tion from the first man who was put into a garden “ to dress it 
and keep it.” The instructions as to planting, maintenance, 
etc., are clear and comprehensive, and can be read and prac- 
ticed with profit by both amateur and professional. 

GEOSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers 
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK 


THE GROSSET & DUNLAP 
ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS 
OF FAMOUS BOOKS a a a 


The following books are large i2mo Tolumes 5^x8^ inches in 
size, are printed on laid paper of the highest grade, and bound in cloth, 
with elaborate decorative covers. They arc in every respect beautiful 
books. 

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN— By Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

A new edition, printed from entirely new plates, on fine laid paper 
of extra quality, with half-tone illustrations by Louis Betts. 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS— By John Bunyan. 

A new edition of Bunyan’ s immortal allegory, printed from new 
plates on fine laid paper, with illustrations by H. M. Brock. 

THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD— By Susan Warner. 

Printed from entirely new plates, on fine laid paper of superior 
quality, and illustrated with numerous drawings by Fred Pegram. 

THE LITTLE MINISTER (Maude Adams Edition) 
— By J. M. Barrie. 

Printed on fine laid paper, large l2mo in size, with new cover de« 
sign in gold, and eight full-page half tone illustrations from the play. 

PROSE TALES— By Edgar Allan Poe. 

A large izmo volume, bound in cloth, with decorative cover. 
Containing eleven striking drawings by Alice B. Woodward, a biog* 
raphy of the author, a bibliography of the Tales, and comprehensive 
notes. The best edition ever published in a single volume. 

ISHMAEL ) By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

SELF-RAISED J The two vols. in a flat box, or boxed separately 

rZandsome new editions of these two old fiivorites, with illustrations 
by Clare Angell. 

THE FIRST VIOLIN— By Jessie Fothergill. 

A fine edition of this popular musical novel, with illustrations by 
Clare Angell, 

EACH VOLUME IN A BOX. PRICE ONE DOLLAR EACH 


GROSSET & DUNLAP :: New York 


THE GR OSSET AND DUNLAP SPECIAL 
EDITIONS OP POPULAR NOVELS THAT 
HA VE BEEN DRAMATIZED, 


CAPE COD FOLKS: By Sarah P. McLean Greene. 

Illustrated with scenes from the play, as originally 
produced at the Boston Theatre. 

IF I WERE KING : By Justin Huntly McCarthy. 

Illustrations from the play, as produced by E. H. 
Sothern. 

DOROTHY VERNON OF HADDON HALL: 
By Charles Major. 

The Bertha Galland Edition, with illustrations from 
the play. 

WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WAS IN FLOWER: 
By Charles Major. 

Illustrated with scenes from the remarkably suc- 
cessful play, as presented by Julia Marlowe. 

THE VIRGINIAN : By Owen Wister. 

With full page illustrations by A. I. Keller. 
Dustin Farnum has made the play famous by his 
creation of the title role. 

THE MAN ON THE BOX. By Harold MacGrath. 

Illustrated with scenes from the play, as originally 
produced in New York, by Henry E. Dixey. A piquant, 
charming story, and the author’s greatest success. 

These books are handsomely bound in cloth, are 
well-made in every respect, and aside from their un- 
usual merit as stories, are particularly interesting to 
those who like things theatrical. Price, postpaid, 
seventy-five cents each. 


GEOSSET & DUNLAP, Publishebs 
r 52 DUANE STREET NEW YORK 


PRINCESS MARITZA 

A NOVEL OF RAPID ROMANCE. 

BY PERCY BREBNER 
With Harrison Fisher Illustrations in Color, 

Offers more real entertainment and keen enjoyment than 
any book since “ Graustark.” Full of picturesque life and 
color and a delightful love-story. The scene of the story is 
Wallaria, one of those mythic^ lungdoms in Southern Europe. 
Maritza is the rightful heir to the throne, but is kept away from 
her own country. The hero is a young Englishman of noble 
f am ily. It is a pleasing book of fiction. Large 12 mo. size. 
Hanasomely bound in cloth. White coated wrapper, with 
Harrison Fisher portrait in colors. Price 75 cents, postpaid. 


'Books by George Barr McCutcheon 

BREWSTER’S MILLIONS 
Mr. Montgomery Brewster is required to spend a million 
dollars in one year in order to inherit seven millions. He must 
be absolutely penniless at that time, and yet have spent the 
million in a way that will commend him as fit to inherit the 
larger sum. How he does it forms the basis for one of the 
most crisp and breezy romances of recent years. 

CASTLE CRANEYCROW 
The story revolves around the abduction of a young Ameri- 
can woman and the adventures created ‘■hrough her rescue. 
The title is taken from the name of an old castle on the Con- 
tinent, the scene of her imprisonment. 
uRAUSTARK: A Story of a Love Behind a Throne. 

This work has been and is to-d^ one of the most popular 
works of fiction of this decade. The meeting of the Pri icess 
of Graustark with the hero, while travelling incognito in this 
country, his efforts to find her, his success, the defeat of con- 
spiracies to dethrone her, and their happy marriage, provide 
entertainment which every type of reader will enjoy. 

THE SHERRODS. With illustrations by C. D.Williams 
A novel quite unlike Mr. McCutcheon’s previous works in 
the field of romantic fiction and yet possessing the charm in- 
separable from anything he writes. The scene is laid in In- 
diana and the theme is best described in the words, “ Whom 
God hath joined, let no man put asunder.” 

Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Large izmo. size. 
Price 75 cents per volume, postpaid. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishebs 
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK 











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